


As Good As It Gets

by radiantbeams



Series: Extreme Cheapskates [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (kinda you'll see), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Domestic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fashion & Couture, Louis is a realtor but there isnt a tag for that, M/M, Model Harry, New York City, Oblivious Harry, Roommates, not till the end though bc they hate each other at first obvi, now theres a tag for that, realtor Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiantbeams/pseuds/radiantbeams
Summary: Louis's arms fling out, almost hitting Harry in the face. “Of course you did! You constantly made me feel small, insignificant, Harry. It wasn’t until that last day that you really made me feel worthless though.”“I had no idea…” He says in wonder. Did he really?“You had no idea? Why is it so hard for me to believe that? You knew Harry, and you enjoyed it. Because when you made me feel small, you made yourself feel big. But I decided I wasn’t going to be around to prop you up anymore. And I’m not going to be around to do it now, so just, please, leave me alone."--Or the enemies to lovers/roommates AU where Louis and Harry really don't get along until they just kind of... do.





	1. PART L

**Author's Note:**

> WOW okay thank you sooooo much to my wonderful beta Anna ([tintedglasses](http://tintedglasses.tumblr.com)) I couldn't ive done it without you!
> 
> The whole fic is based off [THIS](http://thiccmom.tumblr.com/post/164434930389/who-wants-a-housesitter-au-where-louis-housesits) prompt/drabble I wrote at the beginning of the semester.
> 
> Almost all of the places mentioned in this fic are real streets/apartments/restaurants in NYC, it's one of my favorite cities in the world and I wanted to keep things authentic.
> 
> The character of Rose is based off the housekeeper we had when I was growing up, and she taught me a bit of Portuguese too, which I use in some later chapters. (a quick google translate does the job, though some are local idioms/slang)
> 
> IDK how Nick's character became so... involved, but by the end I just kind of leaned into it lol gotta love stylinshaw friendship.
> 
> Big shoutout to my own HORRIBLE roommates for giving me some :) wonderful :) inspiration for Louis and Harry's interactions :) love it :) thanks :)
> 
> I really don't see anything that could be a possible trigger except for maybe a small section in the second chapter and a few other mentions of partying/excessive drinking. If you see anything triggering that you would like me to tag please leave a comment or message me on [tumblr](http://thiccmom.tumblr.com/faqask) and I will gladly tag it.
> 
> It's best read as 'entire work' instead of chapter by chapter. I change perspectives from Louis to Harry so that's why I split it up (to make it clear) but that's not really how it was intended to be read. Thanks!

Louis wakes up to the housekeeper letting herself in. He fumbles around in the sheets for his phone, groaning when he sees his silenced alarm flashing up at him. Fuck, he’s late. Dr. and Mrs. Howard are coming back from Barbados in three short hours and his stuff is still strewn all about the place. He throws the covers off and scrambles for his suitcases that he stuffed around here… somewhere.

“Hello Mr. Tomlinson, the Howards are coming today, yes?” Rose asks in her strong Brazilian accent. She’s the maid for most of the penthouses he housesits. They’ve become good friends over the almost two and a half years he’s been doing this. He can hear her judgment for letting himself sleep in; she knows how lazy he can be.

“Um, yes, Rose. I’m running horribly late.” He shoves his toiletries into his case, running a finger covered in toothpaste over his teeth. She chuckles at him, flinging open the window curtains in the bedroom.

“I’ll set your things apart when I come across them. You work on in here.” She motions to the horrible disarray of the master bedroom. “Want me to pack the kitchen, too?” She asks, unwinding the cord to the vacuum and leading it down the stairs.

Louis hangs over the railing to peer at her in the huge open-air living room. He’s really glad he’d thought to put sheets over the furniture; he can already see a stain from the rocky road ice cream carton he forgot about last night on the armrest. Why are all the rich people really into that stark white minimalist furniture now-days? It really is so impractical for… everything, especially genuine living.

“Thank you so much, Love. But no, don’t worry about the kitchen. If you want anything take it for yourself. I know Matheus loves those cocoa pops.” He winks at her before slamming open the closet, still in search of his luggage.

“He should not be eating those cocoa pops, and neither should you, Mr. Tomlinson, but I will take them. He’d love to see you at his match this weekend, you know. It’s been too long. Where are you staying next?” Her bracelets jingle as she wipes over one of the kitchen counters.

He scratches his head, where the fuck did he put those cases? He answers distractedly “Oh, I’m staying in the Upper East Side. 82nd and Park. I’ll try to come, text me where and when. You’re still in the Bronx right?” He skips down the stairs, still in nothing but his boxers.

“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson.” She laughs, sliding him his little blue tin where he keeps all his tea.

“Stop calling me that, Rose. It’s weird.” He furrows his brows, flicking on the kettle.

“We have to keep _some_ professional boundaries Mr. Tomlinson.” She eyes his bare chest judgmentally, smile evident in her voice.

“See something you like, Ms. Santos?” Louis smirks, wiggling his hips. She throws a dirty rag at him, hitting his sternum with a wet _slap_.

“Go get dressed, Louis.” Rose says with all authority of his own mother and a soft smile. He backs towards the stairs with a left-handed salute.

Eventually, he does find his suitcases, tucked away under a lounge chair in the master bath. Who the hell keeps a lounge chair in the master bathroom anyway? He packs in record time, even has enough to spare to help Rose get all the furniture into its original position and a crate overflowing with his half eaten junk food for Matheus into her van. He kisses her on the cheek, leaves his keys in the letterbox, and has the doorman hail him a cab.

He stops by Niall’s flat first, lets himself in with his own key that Niall doesn’t really know he had made. His next housesitting gig doesn’t start till tomorrow morning at 9, so he’s got to crash on somebody’s couch again. Louis is sure his friends are sick of him squatting at their places, but he has enough people to rotate through that he doesn’t feel over imposing. The only friend he probably takes advantage of too much is Niall, or maybe Nick, but he can’t help that his two best friends have legitimate guest bedrooms (a special rarity in New York City). 

After throwing his stuff down in the middle of Niall’s living room, the man himself nowhere to be seen, he takes the F train to Brooklyn and deposits all his checks. Since he got an alert last time he went to that bodega on 10th street that his balance was low. Thank god for high tech banking, really. Those text reminders have saved his ass more times than he can count.

He walks the Brooklyn Bridge overpass back to Chinatown, because it’s a nice day and all the tourists haven’t annoyed him yet. He gets some dumplings and eats them in Columbus Park. There are a group of teenagers playing football, excuse me, _soccer_ , on the field and he watches their game while scrolling through his emails. There’s one from a new family he’s never housesat for, leaving for their _Parisian Villa_ for next summer and want him to watch their home here in the city. Home. Meaning, not a penthouse, not an apartment, an actual home in Upper West Side Manhattan, who the fuck has a house in the Upper West Side? He immediately responds that he’ll do it.

Ever since he moved to NYC three years ago, nothing but a suitcase and a naive optimism to go with him from Donny, he’s been housesitting. Niall was getting a bit to tetchy about him using the guest room rent-free for two whole months; so he responded to an ad on craigslist and the rest they say is history. He’s a hot commodity now, with positive references coming out of his ears. He’s made quite a name for himself with Manhattan’s elite homeowners. He’s clean enough that they don’t get mad, he never has people over, he’s good with pets, and he’s never been arrested. Apparently that’s the magic formula to get paid $3,000 a month to live in someone else’s lavish apartment. Sometimes they’ll only need him for a week, sometimes a whole season; either way he’s making serious bank. He doesn’t pay rent, or electricity, or cable, or water, or anything really. Most of the places he stays at have their own gym or pool. The last one had an amazing sauna (which definitely is going on the list of Louis's Dream Home Necessities). It sucks that sometimes there’s a night like tonight, where he either: imposes on his friends, finds a one-night stand, or books a hotel room. But Louis thrives off the uncertainty of it all. He doesn’t need a home.

Eventually he meanders back to Niall’s flat. Once he gets there he pulls out his laptop and slides on his glasses. It’s not like he doesn’t have a real job too. No, Louis is not only a ‘professional squatter’ as his friends like to tease him. He’s put his English degree to good work writing a weekly LGBT column in _The Villager_ , thank you very much. The pay is shit but at least it’s consistent. Louis does actually have some bills, like his phone, some health insurance, and… that’s it, really. Not even a car payment. 

“Louis! No!” Niall yells, hands on his hips, when he spots Louis on the couch.

With a chagrined smile and fingers crossed behind his back he begs. “Pleeeeeease! It’s only one night, I’ll be gone in the morning, I promise.”

“No. And don’t think about calling Grimmy either, he’s getting his carpets cleaned and is staying with Annie.” Niall says, dropping his briefcase heavily to the floor and slugging over to the fridge.

Louis whines high in his throat, falling dramatically over the kitchen counter. “Why can’t I just stay with you, Nialler? Do you have someone visiting? I can just sleep on the couch!”

“Why can’t you get a hotel room?” He asks, leaning against the cabinets, sipping orange juice straight from the carton. Noted. Don’t drink the orange juice.

“Why stay in a stuffy hotel all on my lonesome when I could spend it with my best friend in the world?” Louis bats his eyelashes in what he hopes is an enticing manner. 

“Cheapskate.” Niall mumbles under his breath.

Unfortunately, he was kind of right. But Louis had never been really good at managing money. He was pretty certain he did not have enough in the bank right now to pay for a hotel room. Not if he wanted to like… eat food this week or you know, stuff like that. He honestly doesn’t really know where it all goes. His ever increasing Kappa and Vetements wardrobe, along with $20 cocktails every weekend, beg to differ, but head in the sand and all that.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. My next gig is for almost five months, so you won’t have to see me involuntarily that whole time.” Louis plasters on his most cherubic smile.

Niall caves, because Niall always caves. “Ugh, fine. But you’re ordering pizza _and_ giving me money for a beer run.” Louis cheers. “Enough money for a good IPA, there will be no PBR in this house tonight.” Louis cheers a little less enthusiastically. He doesn’t even like beer.

 

*          *          *

 

Louis moved about the kitchen the next morning, trying to be quiet. But not trying too hard because he _was_ making Niall breakfast, which had to allow for some leniency in Ni’s ‘no noises before 8am’ rule. His phone suddenly begins ringing, vibrations pulsing it closer and closer to the edge of the counter.

“Louis Tomlinson.” He answers, shoving his mobile between his ear and shoulder.

“Mr. Tomlinson, I’m so glad to have caught you. Mr. and Mrs. Latham are sadly not going to be leaving the city this winter. Mr. Latham’s father has abruptly fallen ill and they will be staying here in Manhattan to be close to him. They apologize profusely for the late notice, and are willing to pay half your agreed rate for your inconvenience.” Mr. Latham’s PA says in his posh accent. Fucker probably wasn’t even British.

 “What?” Because also, what? No! This was his big gig, his long-term stay. The Latham’s were supposed to be gone for _five months_ , Louis can’t find somewhere else to stay for five whole months; are you kidding me?

“Yes, they are very sorry, Mr. Tomlinson. Could you give me an address to send your check?” Well at least he’s still getting paid. Not nearly as much as he thought, but it’s something.

“Oh, um.” Louis doesn’t have an address! Oh fuck does this mean he’s homeless?

He rattles off Niall’s address, exchanging pleasantries in a daze. ‘Oh no, it’s fine, I hope Mr. Latham’s father recovers.’ ‘Mr. and Mrs. Latham would still love to use your services another time, Mr. Tomlinson.’ And so on until he’s staring down at his phone and the eggs have burnt. His mouth is gaping open and his brain is going so fast it kind of feels like he isn’t thinking at all. The most overwhelming theme of his thoughts though is: what the fuck is he gonna do?

“Oh, hey? Don’t you need to get going? You’re gonna be late.” Niall interrupts himself with a yawn.

“I don’t have a job.” Louis mumbles, mind still reeling. He lets Niall move him out of the way to get to the cabinet of mugs.

“You what?”

“The Lathams. They don’t need me.” He finally comes back to himself a bit more, eyes widening, his previous numbness immediately dissipating into panic. “I’m homeless! Niall, oh my god, I’m homeless. There’s no way I can find a flat ready for move in by tonight, especially one that’ll take short-term renters.”

“Calm down, Mate, you’ll find something. Use today and call around, you know half the people on this island, I swear to god. I’m sure someone knows somebody with a room to rent.” Niall thrusts a cup of tea into his hands, taking a piece of (partially burnt) toast for himself. “Welcome to the real world, Lou, where people pay real bills and live in real apartments.”

Once Niall leaves for work, Louis changes back into his sweatpants because he deserves to be comfortable after all this emotional turmoil. He pulls out his laptop again, doing a cursory search on move-in ready apartments in Manhattan. None of them are in his price range. Taking into account his savings, and assuming he won’t be making any extra money than his _Villager_ salary, he really doesn’t have a lot to work with, not by NYC standards. Then he starts the phone calls, going straight down his contact list. By the time he’s left 30 voicemails with roughly the same pathetic message ( _please don’t let me live on the street_ ), Louis is about ready to give up.

He takes a much-needed break down to the coffee shop on 47th and 9th. Posting adverts on bulletin boards is still a thing, right? That didn’t stop in the 90’s? He’s desperate.

Louis orders a hot chocolate, because coffee is atrocious and Americans have no idea how to make a proper cuppa, and stares dejectedly out the window. He startles when his phone buzzes in his pocket, letting out a little yelp.

Unknown number. Oh dear jesus, please don’t be a telemarketer.

“Louis Tomlinson.”

“Um, yeah. Hi, Ed gave me your number, actually. You’re looking for a room to rent?” The person on the other end of the line asks. He’s British, thank god, and has a deep attractive voice that automatically makes Louis feel a little flirtier. No, pull it together, Tomlinson, eye on the prize.

“Yes! Yeah, oh my god, do you have one? I need to move in today. Wait, who is this? Ed Sheeran gave you my number?” He’s a professional.

“Oh, right, I’m Harry. Harry Styles.” He paused and Louis racked his brain for something to say to break the awkward tension. “Well, uh, I don’t have a room, per say, just a pull out couch and a room divider.” Could this bloke talk any slower? “But, uh, I could really use some help with the rent, and, like, you could move in today, yeah.”

“I’ll take it!” Louis exclaims as soon as he was done talking. Louis had slept in worse conditions, and it’s not like he had many other choices.

“Don’t you want to, like, see the place?” Oh right, duh.

“Yes! Yeah, are you there now? Where’s it located? Right now I’m in Hell’s Kitchen.” Louis says, already packing up his stuff.

“Sure, uh, you could come now. I’m in Chelsea, 22nd and 8th.” He sounds like he was about to say something else but Louis interrupts him anyway.

“Great! I can be there in 15 minutes, text me your flat number.” And he hangs up, already skidding out the door and onto the street.

It was definitely more of a 30-minute walk to Chelsea from here. But with a little bit of a jog, and refusing to acknowledge just how short his legs actually are, he could make it.

 Harry’s apartment building is squashed between a brownstone and some enormous tower block that looked far too modern and very out of place. He buzzes up for H. Styles 4B and makes his way up the stairs. It’d been awhile since he was in a complex that didn’t have an elevator. Which sounds very pretentious, even in his head.

Louis was ready to go with a polite greeting but then Harry opened the door and _whoa_. This dude was _hot_. Louis suddenly felt very much less annoyed with having to live with a stranger for the next few months.

“Hi.” He says, all other thoughts leaving his head in a loud whoosh.

“Um, hello. C’mon in.” Harry steps back. Thankfully Louis had enough sense to follow him in and not dawdle in the threshold like an dolt. “It’s not much, but, ya know, it’s a great location.” He fiddles awkwardly with the rings on his hands as Louis takes it all in. “So, yeah, the living room is huge, I think they expected people to, like, put a dining table there. But I’ve just, like, put up a room divider and my sister’s old futon is behind it.” So being in person didn’t make him talk any faster, apparently.

Louis peers around the room divider, which is really only a few palettes stacked on top of each other (just this side of eclectic that screamed trashy and homemade, instead of fancy hipster eccentric). Sure enough, there was a tiny twin futon, a side table, and… that’s about it. His back already hurt just looking at the lumpy mattress and there was quite a large stain on one of the corners.

“Looks great! You’re cool with me paying monthly?” Louis says cheerfully, startling when he turned around and Harry was _right there_. Didn’t anyone tell this guy that it was kind of definitely weird to hover like that?

“Yeah, that’s fine. I pay just over two a month. I won’t charge you half, obviously. So, like, 750?” Hell fucking YEAH he’ll pay $750 a month for this. Only one roommate and this close to midtown, the perfect setup.

 “It’s a deal!” He exclaims, already calculating how best to fit his garment bag over the window. He’ll probably have to invest in one of those freestanding clothes racks.

“Really? Wow, um, great! Yeah, well, I’ll need the first month’s rent, and you can just pay as you go I guess. Ed didn’t know how long you’d need a place for. I’ve heard you’re a bit of a nomad.” 

“How do you know Ed?” It was still weird to Louis that other people like… talked about him when he wasn’t around. He didn’t like complete strangers knowing his business like that.

“We, um. I was at this club opening, right? And he was there, too, this was like a few years ago, I don’t know, we hit it off.” Enlightening conversationalist, obviously.

“Oooh, club opening, Mr. Big Shot.” Louis says sarcastically. He takes in the rest of the flat. It’s pretty bohemian, all things considered, the hardwoods were a bit worse for wear, a beat up brown sofa with an explosion of pillows, probably 30 plants scattered around, some were even hanging from the ceiling. The bathroom looked to be a decent size. There was a tub so Louis was winning already.

Harry chuckles nervously, watching hesitantly as Louis wanders over to the small kitchen. “Yeah.” He says lamely, letting an awkward silence fall over them.

“Cool, well, not that I don’t love this titillating conversation, but I should probably go get my stuff now, yeah?” Louis says, making a move for the door. “And I’ve got plans in like…” He checks his phone. “An hour.”

“Right, well, um, here’s the spare key. I work nights, usually, sometimes. I mean, I work tonight. So I won’t be around but yeah, settle in, make yourself at home.” Harry wrestles with a drawer in the kitchen, finally coming up with a key with a dry-rot rubber band looped through it.

“Thanks! This is great! I’ll see ya, I guess.” Louis already turning to leave. This was perfect! Who could believe it? All his problems solved in one day.

 

*          *          *

 

This was the worst.

Literally, living with Harry was the worst. He’s up at 6 every morning to do ‘sunrise yoga’ and even if he’s trying to be quiet, Louis has been known to be a light sleeper. Also, he’s convinced Harry hasn’t been trying to be quiet, since he’s always bumping into the furniture and clanging around in the kitchen to make that disgusting lemon tea he likes to drink. Harry is also, apparently, a model. And his model friends are always around drinking fancy liquors and eating salads and talking about fashion and the meaning of life or something high class like that. Point is: Louis can’t even watch the Man U game in his pants and eat Fritos without getting disgusted looks from people who are 10 times fitter than he is. It’s awful, and intimidating, but mostly awful.

Harry also bartends, but only occasionally, so Louis never knows when he’ll be at the flat. Or when he’ll be coming in at 3am. Where of course, he still hasn’t figured out how to not make an enormous ruckus, waking Louis each and every time. He’s also taken to labeling all his food, which seems pretty passive-aggressive. No one wants to eat your vegan cheese, Harry. Literally no one wants to eat that. There have also been a few notes left out with ‘helpful hints’ for cleaning various items around the house. One on the toilet, a fair few on the vacuum (conveniently placed in the very center of the living room. Louis managed to walk around it for an entire week before he caved and actually used it), and another left on the _inside_ of the toaster oven, which seems like a fire hazard if you ask him.

It’s not like Louis is a _slob_ , though. Okay, maybe he is a slob, but he’s just used to a cluttered living space! Growing up with four younger sisters, you have to get used to living in messy conditions. Harry is just being ridiculous. Honestly, nobody needs their house to be _that_ clean.

Needless to say, but Louis has been desperately, frantically, searching for another place to live. But no one needs their house watched and he still can’t afford a place by himself. He’s picked up a few dog-walking jobs to keep busy, and also get out of the house while Harry stress-bakes because apparently that’s a thing. Why Harry’s stressed, Louis has no idea.


	2. PART H

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to flip back and forth between Louis and Harry's perspectives.
> 
> At the end of this chapter, Louis acts very inebriated. Just FYI as sometimes that makes people uncomfortable.

Harry has no idea how anyone could be friends with someone who is an invariable twat. People do it, though, because Louis has tons of friends; and he is an invariable twat. Harry thinks of himself as a naturally non-confrontational person. He likes people, generally, or at least he rarely _dis_ likes people. But Harry very definitely dislikes Louis. 

Louis is messy and loud and kind of rude. Thank god they’re on different schedules, so he doesn’t have to see him very much, at least not in person, because there is no escaping Louis, not really. Harry likes to assimilate Louis to a tornado, in and out in a flash, but the aftermath is seen for days. Case and point: dirty dishes. Harry watched, he _watched_ , Louis eat a bowl of oatmeal four days ago and just leave the dish in the sink. That’s a perfectly fine place to leave a dirty dish (better than the coffee table as he’s sometimes wont to do). But the bowl is still sitting there, four days later, gross little bits of oatmeal floating around in the water that’s now accumulated in it. It’s disgusting, and it gets in the way when he tries to refill the electric kettle. On principle, Harry refuses to clean it for him. Because wouldn’t that just be rewarding a bad behavior?

He’s loud, too. Harry will admit he has a weird schedule. He usually sleeps during the day now, since Burberry never panned out and they’re between seasons. But Louis either hasn’t picked up on that (which seems almost impossible), or he just doesn’t care. Too many afternoons Harry has been woken up by Louis yelling at a footie match on TV. Which is another thing, Louis keeps filling up the Tivo with sports games and the shitty reality TV shows he seems to be obsessed with. Harry almost _almost_ lost it when he realized Louis has deleted the latest episode of Downton Abbey, the one he hadn’t seen yet and the one with the biggest plot twist. His only respite is now Louis leaves during the day. Harry assumes he’s working but he doesn’t know exactly, not that he cares to know, as long as he gets his few hours of peace and quiet.

Harry’s started baking now, because he always bakes when he’s stressed. Most of what he makes goes to waste though since most of his friends wouldn’t touch a food that high in calories, carbohydrates, and sugar with a ten foot pole. So he leaves them out on the counter and even though he’s never seen Louis actively eat any, they keep disappearing. Usually, Harry loves when people eat the pastries he makes, but for some reason when Louis does it’s really really annoying.

Nick gave him the idea to leave notes for Louis, since he’s been living there for three weeks and hasn’t cleaned a single thing. Nick is always really good with getting under people’s skin, which is why Harry went to him for help this time. Typically Harry doesn’t condone his vindictive behavior, but now it’s become a real benefit.

He’s lounging around with Camille and Sarah late on a Friday night when the subject of Louis comes up… again.

“He seems sweet.” Sarah says, taking another hit. Harry glares at her.

“He’s awful.” He huffs, crossing his arms indignantly.

“You said he calls his sister every afternoon on her lunch break, that’s proof enough right there, not awful.” Camille says, the traitor.

Harry groans, rolling over onto his stomach. He lay down on the floor about twenty minutes ago to see if it’d help the room stop spinning, it didn’t. Harry really needs to build up his tolerance.

“Neither of you understand, he’s just so messy.” As he says it, he spies an empty bag of Fritos under the couch. Gross. Also, Louis eats a fuckton of Fritos.

“Yeah and you’re a bit neurotic, H. My bet, he’s a normal lad and you just can’t stand anyone messing with your living space. Honestly, I don’t know why you even offered up your place.” Camille says, or at least he thinks it’s her, he doesn’t have it in him to make the effort and lift his head from where it’s squashed into the carpet.

“He has no respect for me and my schedule at all.” Harry grumbles.

“Oh right, because he calls you ‘Harold’ and oh, I don’t know, is busy living his life on a normal timetable. Not everything has to cater to you, Harry. And wasn’t it you talking the other day about how much you love nicknames?” Sarah says with an air of superiority that Harry does not appreciate.

“He keeps turning the radiator off.” Okay, now he’s starting to sound a little petulant.

“Because his bed is right next to the radiator. It’s hot over there. I remember from when my brother stayed with you that one weekend.” Sarah continues, her voice floating over from the kitchen. “Hey can I have one of these?” She asks.

Harry props his head up to where she’s waving a poppy seed muffin around. “Sure.” He mumbles, pulling his chin back down. He really needs to invest in a softer area rug. He wouldn’t need to if Louis ever once cleaned up after himself. The crumbs in all the fibers make it itchy.

“Did you make these? They’re pretty good.” She says around a mouthful.

He suddenly scrambles up into a sitting position. Taking a moment to gain his bearings before speaking impassionedly. “That’s another thing!” He exclaims, eyes still floating a little bit. Dude, what was in that weed? “He keeps eating everything I bake!" 

They’re both silent for a long minute. “But… don’t you like it when you share your bakes?” Camille says in a slow voice. “I mean, you’re always getting mad at us because we _don’t_.”

Well… maybe she has a point. “It’s different with him.” He insists, reaching out for the lighter.

“Apparently, _everything_ is different with him.” Sarah says on her way back from the kitchen with her muffin. He shoots her a glare and she slinks back to the kitchen to get a plate and a napkin.

“Why don’t you just talk to him about it? I’m sure if he knew there was a problem then you could work something out.” Camille says as he takes another hit.

He lays back down and lets the high wash over him. “I shouldn’t have to talk to him about it.”

“So he should just know?” Sarah asks. Harry nods. “Great, so let’s make a list shall we? Harry’s roommate requirements: mind reading.”

He glares at her, but ultimately gives up the fight when he hears the key in the lock outside. Louis pushes the door open and Camille giggles when she sees him. Which makes Louis raise a judgmental eyebrow.

He rummages around in the kitchen for a bit, peeling off his shirt on his way back to his ‘room’. Harry’s eyes do not linger, thank you very much, Sarah. Louis pauses and turns back, giving him a very disapproving once over. Oops. Maybe he said that one out loud.

“I think if you two just fucked you’d be better roommates. All this animosity is obviously just poorly concealed sexual tension.” Camille says loudly. She always gets so annoyingly philosophical when she’s high.

“Leave ‘em alone, Cami. You know H only tops.” Sarah says equally as loud and Harry’s face flames bright red.

“With an arse like that I’m sure the roommate bottoms.” Camille responds with a wave of her hand.

There’s a choking sound behind the partition and Harry cringes.

“The roommate has a name.” Louis comes back around to the living room in a pair of sweatpants. “And I don’t think _‘H’_ here could handle this arse.” He says with a pointed look to Harry’s crotch.

The two girls fall over themselves laughing and he swears he sees Louis's lips twitch up into a reluctant smile. Soon after that, when Louis is making his evening cup of tea (because Harry has noticed he makes one every night before going to bed), the girls leave on much steadier legs and a promise to see each other next weekend.

“I’m sorry.” Harry says when he gets the door closed. Louis looks up, confused. “About them.”

He nods in understanding, shrugging his shoulders. “You want some tea?” And wow, this is a first. Louis is always oddly protective of his little blue tin of tea.

“Um… Sure.” Harry takes a seat, flipping on the Tivo and bringing up the Man U v Real Madrid game. Not because he knows that Louis will probably want to watch it. He’s only watching it now and not earlier because the girls were over, there are no other reasons.

“Cream? Sugar?” Louis asks.

“No cream, three sugars.” Harry says not looking up from his phone. He hears Louis scoff. “There a problem?” He asks challengingly.

“Yeah, you’re forcing me to make a fucking awful cup of tea. Honestly, Harold, that’s the worst way to drink it. Black? Three sugars? Disgusting.” Louis rants as he carefully carries over two mugs, Harry’s held out in disgust.

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s just Harry, not Harold.” He doesn’t mention that he actually likes closer to 6 sugars in his tea, because even people who aren’t total snobs (about every fucking thing, mind) judge him for that.

“Whatever.” Louis pauses from blowing across the top of his mug to shoot him a look, eyes flicking over to the paused screen of the TV.

Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes again. He’s been doing it so much lately he’s kind of afraid they’ll get stuck in the back of his head, like that old wives tale says.

Apparently, he doesn’t act fast enough because Louis is suddenly snatching the remote from his lap and rewinding to watch the pre-match commentary. Who the fuck watches the pre-match commentary? That’s the most boring part of the game! Harry huffs in his seat, fidgeting, but either Louis doesn’t notice or he’s ignoring him. Probably ignoring him.

 

*          *          *

 

Every Sunday is when Harry does his laundry. It’s now been four weeks since Louis moved in and he’s never seen him do laundry, although Harry’s definitely found a few pairs of socks that he did not purchase go through his own wash load. It makes him furious but he washes them anyway and leaves the miscellaneous articles of clothing at the foot of Louis’s bed. So far it has been nine (Harry’s still confused on how that even happened) individual socks, a pair of boxers, two t-shirts, and one zip up hoodie with the name ‘Niall’ written on the inside collar.

Fortunately, there’s coin laundry in the basement of the building. Unfortunately, the basement is covered in spiders, and Harry is terrified of spiders. He hates Sundays. But now he hates Louis (even more) for not having to go down into the spider-infested dungeon and mooching off Harry’s servant heart. Really, Harry should get a medal for being so selfless. Nick likes to say he’s spineless, not selfless, but tom-ay-to/tom-ah-to.

Harry has to admit that it is a little endearing that Louis, who tries to come across as this big macho-man, has penguin socks. The penguins are even wearing little bow-ties. It’s adorable (the socks, not Louis, definitely not Louis). It’s like his one redeemable quality, the socks are, so it’s the least Harry can do to recognize it. Definitely not verbalize it, but recognize it.

Currently, it’s late Sunday evening and Harry’s got his hair up in a bun, folding laundry and trying not to think about how he can feel each of the spiders he saw downstairs crawling all over him. He can’t physically feel them, of course, because he took a shower after he came back upstairs and there’s no possible way a spider could have survived that. But he might take another before he goes to bed, just in case.

His phone starts ringing. It’s Louis and Harry doesn’t think Louis has ever called him since that very first day he moved in. Weird. He almost lets it ring out, bopping along to his Carly Rae Jepsen ringtone, when he thinks better of it. Maybe Louis is in trouble, I mean why else would he call him?

“Harold!” Louis screams enthusiastically into the phone before Harry can even get out a greeting.

“Um, you alright, Louis?” He asks, pulling it a bit away from his ear.

“No!” He sounds very, very drunk.

“No?” Harry asks when it’s obvious Louis isn’t going to expand on his problem.

“No, Harry, I am very much not alright.” Oh no, what the hell happened. Is Louis in trouble? Did he get in a fight? That seems like something Louis would do, annoying little fucker.

“Um… What’s wrong?”

“You talk really slowly. You know that, Harold?” And yeah, Louis still calls him Harold, which is one of the rudest, most disrespectful things… and oh he’s still talking. “Yeah, so if you could come round and bring it to me that’d be great.” Well Harry definitely missed some of this conversation.

“Bring what? Where are you?” He asks, already moving to get his jacket.

“Ugh, weren’t you listening? I swear sometimes I think you’ve just got rocks rolling around up in that pretty little head of yours.”

“Oi!” He exclaims, pouting at the receiver.

“Anyway, what I literally _just_ told you was I’m out clubbing, yeah? Got separated from the group if you know what I mean, took me back to his and all that. But I must have lost my wallet on the way, so now I’m somewhere in Prospect Heights with no money, no identification and no way to get home. I’ve got some cash in a shoebox under my bed. If you could just grab some and come get it to me that’d be great. Because I don’t really know how to get home from here.” He rambles a bit, slurring a couple of words. Harry is suddenly really angry at Louis’s friends for letting Louis go home with someone. It’s obvious he’s a little unawares right now. He’s even angrier with the bloke who took advantage. But Louis doesn’t seem to much mind the predicament he’s in.

“Prospect Heights. How the hell did you get all the way out there?”

Louis makes a noncommittal noise. “Dunno. I guess we were in the cab for a while.”

“Over the bridge, Louis! You went all the way over the bridge and you didn’t notice. That’s so irresponsible, you should know better. What if I hadn’t been around to come get you?” Harry doesn’t even bother getting Louis's money on his way out the door; he can pay him back later after he’s home, safe and sober.

“Oh, so it’s my fault this asshole just wanted a fuck and chuck. And it’s my fault my wallet mysteriously disappeared. I’ll have you know, I am very responsible. And if you weren’t around I would have called… Well I would have called somebody else, I know quite a few people, Harry.” He says indignantly.

Harry runs a hand over his face, trying to calm down and not ream Louis out over the phone. Because no, it’s not his bloody fault but he _should_ know better than to get into a cab with a stranger and not pay attention to where they’re going. Isn’t that like the basic plotline for _Taken 2_?

“Just tell me where you are, Louis. Like an intersection or something.” He says, hailing a cab.

“I think one of my contacts fell out.” Louis says. Harry groans in frustration, gaining an odd look from the cabbie waiting for a destination. He finally gets the name of two streets that sound somewhat right. At least the cabbie takes off without further clarification, so he thinks it’s right.

“Just stay put. I’ll be there in forty minutes.” He listens to Louis drunkenly exclaim he found a 24-hour diner before hanging up when he starts talking to someone else, completely forgetting Harry’s on the other line.

40 minutes later Harry finds Louis sitting in a booth at the 24-hour diner he raved about earlier. Harry lumbers over and doesn’t even take the time to sit down. He’s tired and he wants to get this over with and be home in bed as quickly as possible. Louis has got a tea in front of him and Harry wonders how he was planning on paying for that. His plan is quickly revealed when a waitress with a pink apron and a nametag saying _Natalie_ comes bustling over, giving Louis that affectionate smile everyone seems to give him. Everyone except Harry, anyway.

“Harry! You came! I was starting to get worried.” Louis sounds marginally more sober.

“I told you how long it takes to make it out here. Now, c’mon let’s head home, I’m tired and I’ve got a shoot in the morning.” It’s just for some startup clothing website but he likes to put his best foot forward in everything he does.

“This your friend, Lou?” Natalie says as she takes Louis now empty cup of tea. She has lipstick on her teeth.

“Yeah! My knight in shining armor.” Louis says with a laugh. At least he’s a happy drunk.

Harry snorts. “More like your keeper. Let’s go Louis. Thank you, for watching him till I could get here. How much for the tea?” He asks, helping Louis out of his seat. He stumbles a bit so Harry winds his arm around his waist, Louis hanging onto his bicep.

“Oh, no charge for this sweetie. Glad to help. You keep him safe now.” She says with a smile, reaching over to pinch at Louis’s cheeks. Louis giggles and Harry does _not_ smile at the sound, he doesn’t, his mouth just… got a cramp.

“That’s the plan, thanks again.” He makes a move to leave but Louis doesn’t budge.

“How’re you so muscular? Your biceps are like, huge.” He says, intensely focused on Harry’s dark henley.

Natalie coos. “Oh, aren’t you two just the cutest.” She smiles at them both, clutching her order pad to her chest.

“Oh, we aren’t--” He’s interrupted by Louis trying to look down his shirt.

“Do you have a six pack? I bet you do.” And Harry’s had enough of this and enough of Natalie’s patronizingly fond looks. He bodily moves Louis out the door and back onto the street.

“Get in the cab, Louis.” He says, dragging him by the forearm and propping open the door.

“ _Get in the cab, Louis_.” He mocks in a deep voice. Harry doesn’t talk like that... does he? “Stop treating me like a child, I’m not _that_ drunk.” But he stumbles as he says it, tripping into the back seat.

Harry gives them their address before assists Louis buckling up. Louis glares at him and Harry backs away. He struggles for a minute before turning his big blue eyes back to Harry in search of help.

“Mhm, not that drunk. Sure.” He rolls his eyes strapping him in and goes back to staring out the window.

“Well! If they didn’t make these seatbelts so goddamn difficult…” Louis grumbles about for a bit before falling suspiciously silent. When Harry looks over he sees he’s fallen asleep, head pitching dangerously to the side. And when they go over a bump and Louis falls over to lean on his shoulder, Harry doesn’t really know what stops him from shrugging him off.


	3. PART L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louis's perspective again!
> 
> I've lovingly called this chapter in my head 'when shit hits the fan'.
> 
> Here's some Portuguese translation:
> 
> “Querido, tudo bem?” - Darling, what's wrong/what's up?
> 
> “Fica tranquilo, meu querido.” - Be calm, love.
> 
> “Cinco minutos por favor Mamãe!” - Five more minute please, mom!
> 
> Querido - Darling/Love/General term of endearment

It’s not a money problem, per say, it’s just… Louis has almost no bills and yet he still can’t get enough money together to rent a place on his own. Not that he needs one, because he’s going to get right back to professional squatting as soon as someone in his network returns his calls. Because they will return his calls, it’ll happen. But seriously, where did all his money go?

“Where did all my money go?” He asks, moving his computer to let Pig jump up onto his lap.

Nick guffaws. “Where do you think it went, mate? You spent it!”

“I mean, yeah. But when?” He clicks around to look at his transaction history and… Oh okay, that’s a lot of bar tabs.

“Like all the time, you go out more nights a week than anyone else I know.” Nick says.

“It can’t all be that!” Besides, this is New York; it’s basically a crime not to go out on the weekend. Maybe $200 a night was a little steep, but that club promoter he dated last year really ruined him for anything other than high-class entertainment. And wait, yep, he just found the other place it all went.

“And if I recall correctly, you just haaaad to have the new Off White fall line when we were in Mr Porter last week, and that Burberry coat, and those Balenciaga trousers. You don’t even have a proper job, Louis; you don’t need Balenciaga trousers.” Nick rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. But you can’t put a price on looking good!” Because you can’t, Louis _needs_ all this stuff.

“Well apparently they did, and it was $300 for a t-shirt with a lion on the front of it. I could pop down to Chinatown and find you a t-shirt with a lion on the front of it for $1.50.”

Louis opens his mouth to retort when Nick interrupts him.

“Don’t give me some line about quality stitching.” He says, holding up a finger.

“Well it’s not like you didn’t just buy those new Gucci mules that same shopping trip.” He insists because Nick should not be acting so high and mighty.

“Yes, but I have a real job and a real budget that lets me know I have enough money to afford nice things. You don’t even have a place to live.” Nick says, getting up to pay for their takeaway order at the door.

“I do too!” Louis shouts a bit too loudly, scaring Pig back off to the other side of the room.

“Oh right, how’s that going with Hazza?” Nick asks, the picture of perfect innocence.

Louis glares at him. “You know how it’s going.” Harry and Nick are friends, which, of course they are.

“I hear about it all the time from Harry’s end but I’d really love to hear your thoughts.” Nick says, opening a bottle of wine.

“I knew it! I knew he was talking about me behind my back. Ugh! It’s so frustrating! He’s always acting like everything’s perfect but I knew, _I knew_ , he was complaining to anyone who will listen! Why can’t he just talk to me about it?!” By this point, Louis is almost yelling.

Nick is barely holding in a laugh. “You and him are just alike. And don’t act like all he’s saying isn’t true.” Louis makes a noise of protest. “He’s not right not to talk to you about it, but I’m just saying.”

“Everyone keeps talking like Harry’s the fucking angel and I’m sick of it. He’s nonconfrontational to a fault, neurotic, judgmental, just really an all around prick. Why am I the only one who sees this?” Louis asks, waving his chopsticks around as he spoke.

Nick laughs again. “Harry’s not an angel, good lord no. He can be a fucking twat when he wants to be.”

“He’s so fake.” Louis says under his breath.

Nick chuckles along with him. “Maybe sometimes, but if it’s any consolation he’s not usually intentionally devious. He came to me for some ideas of how to annoy you.”

“And you helped him?! Goddamnit, Grimmy, you’re supposed to be _my_ friend.” That’s it, Louis's only true friend from here on out is Niall. He can’t trust anyone else.

“I’m friends with both of you and you and I both know that our relationship is built on a foundation of playful animosity.” He says, pulling Louis into his side.

“Well it’s not feeling very playful anymore.” He folds his arms across his chest.

“You’ll get over it, and it gives me some good entertainment. Work’s been slow, needed to create some juicy gossip.”

“I feel used.” Louis mumbles pitifully.

“Only because I love you so much, Tommo.” Nick says with a wink.

 

*          *          *

 

It’s approaching 3 months living in Harry’s flat. Because, that’s still all it is, Harry’s flat. He may pay rent, he may have nowhere else to go, but it’s obvious he’s not particularly welcome or accepted. Louis had long since gotten used to feeling like a guest in his own home, mainly because he didn’t ever stay in his own home. He didn’t even have a home, not before now. And he guesses he shouldn’t have been so presumptuous to think that would have changed with his new living arrangement with Harry. But yeah, he didn’t think Harry would end up being such a twat about living together. Maybe it’s just been that much time since he had a long-term roommate, but he didn’t think they’d always been so difficult to live with.

He makes it to Niall’s place at least once a week to complain, which kind of goes against the whole ‘you’ll only have to see me voluntarily’ statement he made, but he needs someone to vent to.

“You can yell about it until you’re blue in the face, Lou. I’m not going to believe that Harry’s the one in the wrong here. I know him pretty well through Ed and I know you pretty well through you invading my life in every possible way. And it’s obvious you’re the one with the attitude problem.” He says after they’ve made it through two games of Fifa and a bottle and a half of wine.

Louis has been losing badly all night, which is totally unfair because Niall is shit at video games. It’s already got him in a bad mood. Niall’s little comments aren’t helping any. 

“Oi, fuck off. I don’t have an attitude problem.” He says… with an attitude, okay maybe Niall has a point. “Well I’m not off base about this.” (He’s quite proud of himself for that American baseball reference, finally assimilating into the culture.)

“Harry’s a nice guy. I’ve literally seen him help an old lady cross the street. There’s no way he’s the type of asshole you say he is.” Niall says, not looking away from the TV. Which is just unacceptable because Louis needs his full attention right now. He’s in crisis. The crisis may just be ‘prove Harry’s a twat’ but like, it’s important and upsetting.

“He’s so judgmental! And those snooty friends he has, ugh. I feel like everything I do I get criticized for! It’s my flat too, I should be able to stay in my pants all weekend and eat mac and cheese for dinner four nights in a row and not get the stink eye.” Louis says, missing yet another goal that was completely fucking wide open.

“What’s with you and laying around in your pants all the time. That’s weird, Tommo.” Niall’s not even appreciating all the winning he’s doing, he looks just as passive as he does when he’s losing. It’s not fair.

“At least I’m not hanging brain.” No one needs to see that much of Niall.

“Hey! It was the middle of July and the AC stopped working, besides that’s your own damn fault for invading my own home like that. Abusing your spare key privileges.” He says, finally sounding rattled.

“That’s my point!” Louis exclaims, jumping up and abandoning his controller on the coffee table, almost knocking over his wine glass. “It’s my house! I live there! I should be able to do what I want!” Okay, now that he’s standing he’s realizing just how much he’s really had to drink.

“You’ve got to calm down, mate. And I see your point, but maybe if you just got to know him all this self-consciousness would go away.”

“I’m not self conscious about anything. He’s just a judgmental asshole.” He says, falling back into the couch in a huff.

Niall hums and un-pauses the game. “Sure, and it wasn’t you who had me un-tag all those photos from 2011 when you had that embarrassing Bieber haircut.”

Louis ignores him.

 

*          *          *

 

It’s one of those rare nights where Louis and Harry are home at the same time. Recently, they’ve been able to coexist in the same place pretty well, chatting for a bit, not fighting over the remote. But tonight Harry’s been in a particularly stormy mood. Louis had just gotten home from the gym, Harry’s scowl following him from the moment he walked in the door till he closed himself in the refuge of the bathroom. While he’s in the shower, Louis wracks his brain as to what he could have done to make him so angry. But then he remembers that Harry was a completely irrational piece of shit. Anything could set him off. As he walks back through to his little corner of the living room, Harry finally speaks up.

“We need to talk.” And if that’s not the most ominous greeting.

“Okay…” He says, stretching out the syllables.

Harry’s murderous glare melts under Louis’s skeptical look. Pushover.

“Um, I just wanted to ask, um.” Now we’re back to the taking for fucking ever to finish a complete sentence.

“Yes?” Louis prompts a bit impatiently. He wanted to get to his Netflix queue as soon as possible.

“I did your laundry.” He says cooly, apparently finding his former confidence.

“Oh? Sweet. Thanks!” Louis had been quietly slipping his dirty clothes in with Harry’s. It was only a few things, and he figured it really didn’t matter. By his tone, apparently it mattered a lot.

“You’re welcome.” They sit in silence for an awkward beat.

“Anything else?” Louis asks, a little bit weirded out by Harry’s current catatonic state.

“Yeah there’s something else!” Oh no, here it comes. “You _idiot!_ I’m trying to do a nice fucking thing, something you didn’t even ask me to do for you _by the way_ ; you just expected it of me, which is incredibly rude! But anyway, I’m trying to do something nice, and your bloody football shorts turned all my whites _pink_!” He was pacing by now, throwing those long arms of his all over the place as he talked.

“Who washes their colors and their whites at the same time?” Well that was obviously not the right thing to say, if Harry’s scowl was anything to go by.

“Not you. Because you, the great Doncaster Diva, never do any fucking laundry, any fucking thing, for yourself.” This is the most he’d heard Harry curse… ever. “I’m sick of it Louis! This is your flat too. You have to do stuff to keep it clean, you have to do your part!”

If Harry wanted to do this now, then they could do this now. “Oh? Oh, do I live here? Because you always treat me like a guest. ‘I keep it like this, I do it like that, it has to stay like this’. Jesus, Harry, if you say I live here, too, why can’t I live my own fucking way?” Louis says, gripping the back of the couch with both hands.

“Because! If I let you live like that, we’d be living in a goddamn hazard evacuation zone.”

“I’m not that bad!” Louis exclaims, but Harry goes right on talking.

“You live in your own fucking world, Louis. You need to wake up, smell the coffee, and start taking responsibility for yourself. I can’t be around to take care of you all the time, and neither can your friends. I talked to Nick.”

Louis scoffs. “I live perfectly fine, I’ll have you know. I don’t need anybody to be ‘taking care’ of me! Not you, and especially not _Nick_.” Nick was on thin fucking ice. “And you have _no right_ to act all high and mighty. You’re not better than me, Harry! I don’t know why you seem to believe that about yourself, but you’re not. We are _equals_ and it’s about time you start treating me like one.”

“ _Equals?_ Equals!” Harry laughs maniacally. “Your big accomplishment for last week was beating the next level of Call of Duty! The only time you see your friends is when you go clubbing, you’re a dog walker for Christ’s sake. I have a job, an agent, a _career_. My friends are supportive and sophisticated. I have my own flat. I think by anyone’s standards, I’m better than you.” Whoa okay, too fucking far Styles.

“I can’t believe you just said that.” Louis says icily. He turns and grabs his coat, slipping on his shoes and walking straight out the door.

He doesn’t know how long he wanders around, but when he comes back to himself his feet are killing him and he realizes he left his phone. He’s somewhere in Mott Haven; he couldn’t remember even crossing the bridge. The November chill ripped through his jacket, not helped by his still damp hair. His teeth chatter as he checks the signs at the cross street. Rose’s apartment wasn’t too far, so he headed that way. Her company van was in the alley next to her building. It was probably getting close to midnight by now; of course she’d be home.

“It’s Louis.” He responds as the buzzer crackled to life. The door unlocks with a click and he pushes it open.

This was more what he was used to. This was why Rose always felt like home, why he would coach Matheus on the weekends. Try as he might, Louis just wasn’t a high-class guy. Maybe Harry was right; he was kind of a loser. He was just a fake wannabe more worried about keeping up an image than actually… going somewhere. All his friends already were somewhere. Jesus, he was 25 and his special skills on his resume was just ‘doesn’t set houses on fire’. He barely squeaked by his A levels, a completely useless Uni degree, no relationship. He didn’t even have any goals. Louis was pathetic.

“Querido, tudo bem?” Rose asks as he rounds the corner to her front door. He pauses before falling into her arms, definitely not crying a little bit. “Fica tranquilo, meu querido.” She says, petting his hair. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I got here. I just needed someone.” He mumbles. He straightens up, wiping under his eyes and giving her a watery smile.

“Come in, Matheus was _just going to bed_.” She says pointedly to her son sitting on the couch.

Matheus groans, not looking away from his video game. “Cinco minutos por favor Mamãe!”

“No, now. You have school.” She goes over to stand in front of the TV. Rose was just like his own mum.

Matheus finally looks up, glaring until his eyes fell on Louis. “Louis!” He says excitedly, bounding over for a hug. “I’ve missed you! I haven’t seen you in forever!” Stifling a yawn even as he said it.

Louis laughs, pulling him in for another hug. “I’ve missed you too, buddy. But listen to your mum. It’s so late! What are you even doing up?”

“He’s trying to convince me he is not a child anymore.” Rose says from the kitchen.

“Well, even grown up 12 year-olds should know to go to bed early when they have responsibilities in the morning, like school.” Louis says, shoving him in the direction of his room. Matheus grumbles again, giving his mom a peck on the cheek before they heard the click of his bedroom door close.

He and Rose stood quietly for a moment, waiting for the other to speak first.

“Not that we don’t love to see you, but what are you doing here, Louis?” Rose asks, handing him a cup of tea that she had obviously made for herself.

He takes a seat on the couch, his head rolling back to stare at the ceiling. “Am I a loser?”

Rose was quiet for a moment before coming to sit beside him. “What’s prompting this, Querido?”

Louis huffs. “Can I stay with you for a few days?”

She nods. “Of course, we really have missed seeing you.” She waits, knowing that Louis would open up with time.

“It’s Harry - my roommate.” Louis pauses to take a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. “He said some things… He said some things that I think honestly might be true.”

“What did he say?” Rose asks gently.

He looks at her like she’s trying to pull out his teeth. He hates being this vulnerable. “He said he was better than me, that I was irresponsible, that I have no aspirations.”

“I’m sorry, he should not have said that.” She frowns.

“Yeah, well, he was right.” Louis shrugs, but he could see Rose already shaking her head.

“He was not right, do not believe that about yourself.” She sets down his tea and takes one of his hands.

“That’s the thing, though. All my friends have jobs and flats and relationships. They’re talking about weddings and saving for retirement. The only sophisticated thing about me is that I don’t like beer.” He says with a self-depreciating laugh, eyes fixed on his hand in hers. 

She pauses for a moment, thinking, running her fingers through his hair just like his mum would when he was upset in grade school. “This ‘Harry’ person should not have said what he did but, maybe… Why did you come to America? To have some fun after you were done with school, yes? Maybe now you are ready to find more direction in your life.”

Rose always knew what to say. “I’d be lost without you, Ro.” He says with a tired smile.

She pets his cheek. “I’ll get you some blankets, you can stay as long as you like. We can talk more in the morning.” She says, getting up and going to the hall. Rose turns back before she could get too far, addressing him again. “As long as you like is no more than a week. After that, you must go do something with your life, Louis. I love you, so I will not let you wallow in self pity for too long.” She grins at him.

 

*          *          *

 

He went back the next day, after walking Matheus to school, to pick up his stuff. Even with buying new clothes all the time, he always kept to a four case maximum. Anything more was impossible to haul on the subway when he changed apartments. Local consignment knew him by name. His next job was scheduled in just a few weeks, after the holidays. He could float between friends until then, right? But no, no he couldn’t. He needed to start being proactive. Making a jump on life rather than just sit idly by while life happened to him. Or whatever it was that self help book said on the back cover.

After he lugged all his stuff back to the Bronx, he spent the rest of the day contemplating what to do with his life. Louis wouldn’t give Harry the satisfaction of knowing that his words affected him so much. But he could admit privately that their conversation actually rattled him. He was qualified for nothing and had no interests that could be applied to a legitimate profession. His _Villager_ column was just busywork at this point, and they cut it down to a monthly run last season. It was only a matter of time before he turned that letter of resignation from a draft into a sent. He made up a legal pad full of pipe dreams like being a star of a reality show or owning a wheat farm, but he couldn’t really imagine him doing any of them long term. There really weren’t a lot of options for people like him. This was too hard. He should just give up.

His phone chimed with a notification. He prayed his luck had found him again and that it was another job. It was an email from one of his clients, but not about anything he expected.

_Mr. Tomlinson,_

_As I am sure you are aware, Dr. and Mr. Kalkandis sold their apartment on Park Ave last year. They were both so very grateful for your services when their residence was still in the city. Mr. Kalkandis is looking to re-invest in real estate on the Upper East Side and was wondering if you were able to assist him. He is stuck in Greece for the next month and has implicit trust in you. Please respond if you are available to be his eyes and ears there in Manhattan and tour apartments with his realtor._

_Best,_

_Agnes Liakos_

_PA to Dr. Glenda and Mr. Antony Kalkandis_

Well there was an idea. An idea that would have to wait, apparently, since Matheus could already be heard singing out in the hall. That boy couldn’t sneak up on… something with very poor hearing.

“Louis! You’re still here!” He says, surprised, as soon as he opens the door.

“Of course! I’m going to be staying with you and your mom for a bit. I thought we could work on your shielding today too.” His eyes light up excitedly. “Only after you’ve finished your homework.” Louis says, followed by a loud groan from Matheus.

“Can’t I do it after?” He whines.

“We both know you won’t.” He says, picking back up his backpack and handing it to him. “Besides, your mum is already being so generous letting me stay here, I don’t think she’d appreciate me corrupting her son. Well, corrupting you any more than I already have.” He winks.

After he makes Matheus a healthy snack, because Rose still didn’t keep any junk food in her house (he was definitely ordering pizza tonight; young boys needed pizza), he pulls up that email again. Maybe… maybe Antony was onto something. He quickly replies that he could, times that he was available for a call, and request for more details about the job. Then he flips open a new tab to search for what it would take to become a realtor. Louis had the connections, had plenty of experience with luxury Manhattan real estate. He was good with people, and honestly, it sounded like it could be tons of fun.

His research was cut short when Matheus shoved his completed homework under his nose. The kid pulled him forcefully out the door, leaving him with barely enough time to grab his boots and write a quick note for Rose.

Him and Matheus were close, like brothers, but also a little more than that. Louis was too young to be his dad, but he knew the story about his real dad and he was as close as Matheus would probably get. Rose had dated a few other men; Louis had even met one of them. But she was very protective of her son, and didn’t want inconsistent father figures walking in and out of his life. Boy, did Louis know a thing or two about that.

He stayed in for the night, turned his phone off for once and allowed himself a little escape. No nightclubs, no one-night stands, no Manhattan. Just pigging out on pizza and pretending for a moment that he was back home in Doncaster. Since it was the weekend, Rose let Matheus stay up until both of them fell asleep watching chick flicks they would never otherwise admit they enjoyed. She tucked them in with a blanket and a kiss to the cheek, more than happy to give Louis a little bit of a family she knew he needed.


	4. PART H

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How can Harry be so obliviously stupid? Incredible.
> 
> Sorry it's a little short, I tried to keep all the chapters about the same length.

Harry was right. He was. So why did he still feel so guilty about what he said? For a second he considered going after him. He couldn’t do that though, he had said what he wanted, and meant it. There was nothing to apologize for. When Louis had been gone for a couple hours, Harry figures he’s probably not coming back. Not like he was waiting up. Why would he be waiting up? He didn’t care about Louis’s feelings. He also definitely did not consider texting Nick to see if Louis had gone to him, if he was alright.

When he gets home from work the next day, he almost doesn’t even notice it. But something is definitely different. Harry stands in the middle of the living room, coat still on, bag in hand, for a solid fifteen minutes before he realizes it.

Louis’s stuff is gone.

He couldn’t really be gone, could he? That’s a tad dramatic, even for Louis. Harry goes around to check behind the partition. There’s an envelope sitting on the futon, everything else just as it was three months ago before Louis came into his life. He opens the letter, which isn’t a letter at all, just a cheque for his portion of this month’s rent. Well then. That’s it. He’s really gone.

 

*          *          *

 

“So you finally scared him off, did ya?” Nick asks loudly as he barges right into Harry’s flat one evening, not even a courteous text to let Harry know he was coming.

Harry looks up from where he’s making his evening cuppa. He never used to need one, not until Louis wasn’t around to make it for him every night. Now he can’t ever make it taste the same, but no one has to know about the twenty different bins of tea he took to the dumpster, trying in vain to find the brand Louis used.

“Hm? Oh, Louis, yeah I guess so. Had a bit of a row, came home the next day and his stuff was gone, key in the letterbox.” He shrugs, pulling down another mug. “What’d he say to you about it?”

“Nothing really, just said he needed to crash at my place for the night. Something about taking an exam and the commute from the Bronx being too far.” Nick waves a hand in dismissal.

“An exam?” What could Louis possibly be taking a test for?

Nick laughs, taking his proffered cup of tea. “Why do you even care, mate? Got rid of the bastard, kind of the point not to talk about him anymore, isn’t it?”

He’s right, of course. Harry shouldn’t care at all. He shouldn’t be wondering what he’s doing all the way up in the Bronx. He shouldn’t be curious about anything having to do with Louis Tomlinson. He should be throwing a fucking party.

Nick spoke up again, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “What the fuck is this tea? Milk, no sugar? You know that’s not how I take it.”

“Right, right, sorry. I’ll make a new one.” He said, taking Nick’s mug.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got to head out anyway. Just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.” Nick said, shrugging his coat back on.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” He’s fine.

Nick gave him a look; hand on the doorknob. “You’ve had a weird obsession with hating him, pardon me for being concerned when the object of all your time and attention has left you.”

“It has not taken up all my time and attention!” It hasn’t, right?

“Mhm, sure. You know who takes their tea with milk no sugar?” He asked eyebrows raised. “Louis.”

Harry threw a pillow at his head, but he was already out the door.

 

*          *          *

 

Harry was making his holiday plans when he realized maybe his ‘not-thinking-about-Louis' was getting a little out of hand. He couldn’t afford to go home this year and as he looked longingly at plane tickets to Manchester, he began to wonder what Louis was going to be doing for Christmas. He knew he was from Doncaster; the accent would gave him away regardless of how Louis wore his hometown like a badge of honor. But past that, he really didn’t know much at all. What were his hobbies? How many siblings did he have? Did he always want to be a nomadic drifter?

What was Louis even doing in the states? It wasn’t like he had a job to bring him over. Why didn’t he think to ask about these things when Louis was still around? It shouldn’t matter now; it _doesn’t_ matter now. He’s been almost a month Louis-free and that is a very reasonable amount of time to have forget about him completely.

He gets a call from Nick at the very beginning of December to talk about his (now annual) Holiday Celebration. ‘Just because it’s on the 25th Harry, doesn’t mean we’re going to exclude anyone. It’s not Christmas, it’s a winter-themed-gift-giving tradition.’ Nick still puts up a tree and hands out Santa hats, so overall it’s a bit confusing.

It’s a free-for-all, as Nick’s gatherings always are, for anyone who can’t make it home for the holidays. Harry went last year, and he’s planning to go again. It’s not like spending Christmas with his mum, but it’s something. He bakes three different kinds of pastries to take with him because his flat is just way too quiet without Louis's little portable speaker blaring out show-tunes. That speaker was annoying and Harry does not miss it.

After a long skype call Christmas morning with his family, he stops by Clare’s place to feed her cat, then on to Nick’s. He gets there right before the rush of people arriving, and he has some eggnog in peace before things really start to get going. Relative peace, because it’s obvious that Nick has had a few and he blares out a horrible rendition of Good King Wenceslas on Mitch’s guitar.

Rudolph on in the background, presents exchanged, and more than half of Harry’s cookies have been eaten by the time Louis gets there. He gives Harry no more than a passive glance, going straight over to the kitchen. Once he makes himself a drink, he looks distastefully at Harry’s cookie tray. He has to know who’s made them, and it’s not like he had any problem with Harry’s baking when they lived together, but now he looks like he’d rather snack on a pile of glass. Harry tries to tell himself he’s not hurt by it.

His legs are all twitchy with the desire to go over and talk to him. He had no idea Louis would even be here tonight. His eyes keep bouncing over to where he’s chatting with Greg. Harry can tell Kendall is about to call him out on his inattention when Louis breaks away from his own conversation. Now’s his chance, he makes an excuse to Kenny and intercepts Louis before he can make it across the room to wherever he was going.

“Hey.” He says, reaching a hand out to stop him. Louis shrugs away like he’s been burned.

“What do you want, Styles? Come to gloat? I saw your Vogue spread already, congratulations, no need to rub it in.” He huffs, nose in the air, not quite meeting Harry’s gaze.

“No! No, I mean– Thank you, but that’s not what I wanted to say.” What did he want to say? He really should have planned this.

Louis raises his eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest while he waits and Harry flounders.

“I– Uh… I just wanted to, uh… Know how you were doing?” He asks sheepishly.

Louis's eyebrow inches impossibly higher. “Oh, because without you I’m sure to be doing poorly, is it?”

“What? No! No, I just– You left so suddenly. I didn’t know…” Harry gestures wildly with his hands.

Louis gives him a blank stare. “It’s been a month since I moved out, Harry, where was this compassion three weeks ago?” He rolls his eyes at Harry’s weak protests. “Forget it. I’m fine. And not that I owe you any information about my life, but I’ve got a place to live, I’ve got a job, and I’ve got a subscription to a laundry service.” He pats Harry on the back, looking sympathetic. “Bye, Harry. Have a nice life.” And he’s gone.

Just like that, gone. Not really, because he’s just across the room talking to Nick but… Harry’s never been so dismissed before. He doesn’t understand it and he doesn’t like it.

“Wait!” He calls, tripping over all his godforsaken long limbs and making a fool of himself. “Wait, you can’t just… I was trying to apologize!” He says, very clearly interrupting Nick and Louis's conversation.

Louis gives him a bitter sarcastic laugh and Nick’s hand twitches like he wants to pull out his phone and record the argument that’s about to happen. “Really? Were you? Because the words ‘I’m sorry’ never left your mouth. Besides, we all know you wouldn’t have meant it anyway, you self-righteous entitled twat.” And well, he’s kind of right, but hell will freeze over before Harry’s going to admit that.

“You have no idea what I was going to say, and better to be self-righteous than fake!” To be honest, Harry’s a little scared. Louis seems just the type of person to put you on your ass during a battle of wit.

“I’m more genuine than you’ll ever be, Mr. Meat-Is-Murder-But-I-Own-Two-Fur-Coats.” He hears a little gasp behind him, probably Taylor. She’s annoyingly vegan, and is most of the reason Harry gave up meat in the first place.

“At least I care enough about my appearance to make sacrifices for fashion. Do you own anything other than vintage tracksuits?” Harry can see a little vein pop up on the side of Louis's neck. Ha! Got ‘em!

Louis's concentration breaks and he looks around at all the people staring at them. He shudders slightly and hauls Harry by the front of his shirt into the nearest room with a door: the pantry.

“What do you want with me, Harry? Why can’t you just leave me alone!?” He all but shouts the moment they’re alone, flicking on the dim lights.

Harry doesn’t really have a good answer to that one. “I… uh… I didn’t… I mean…”

Louis sighs, putting his glass on one of the shelves and pressing his fingers into his temples. “You humiliated me enough when we lived together. I thought moving out would be enough to dissuade you.”

“I humiliated you?” He asks, stuffing his hands under his armpits to stop himself from doing something stupid, like reaching out and hugging him.

Louis's arms fling out, almost hitting Harry in the face. “Of course you did! You constantly made me feel small, insignificant, Harry. It wasn’t until that last day that you really made me feel worthless, though.”

“I had no idea…” He says in wonder. Did he really?

“You had no idea? Why is it so hard for me to believe that? You knew, Harry, and you enjoyed it. Because when you made me feel small, you made yourself feel big. But I decided I wasn’t going to be around to prop you up anymore. And I’m not going to be around to do it now, so just, please, leave me alone. I wanted to enjoy a nice Christmas with my friends, but I guess I’ll go.” Louis reaches around to the door, Sarah almost falling forward onto them once he gets it open.

“Don’t go, Louis! We had a cake, we were going to sing Happy Birthday.” She says, following him to the coat closet.

“Yeah, this is a winter-themed-gift-giving-tradition party, which included your birthday! Don’t go.” Nick pleads.

Birthday? It’s Louis birthday? Oh, he’s in deep shit now.

Harry watches, stunned, as Louis smiles wanly at them, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “Thanks, you guys, but I’m really not feeling up for it. Enjoy it without me though, make it a Yalda cake instead.”

They all give him hugs and Nick steps up close to say something in his ear. They give each other a sad smile. Louis leaves and then it’s quiet, eerily quiet, and all eyes turn to Harry.

He fidgets nervously before Nick advances with intimidation, grabbing him by the ear and dragging him to the bedroom.

“Congratulations, mate, you ruined Christmas. Modern day Ebenezer Scrooge, you are.” He says, hands on his hips. Harry sits gingerly on the bed.

“I had no idea.” He says in a small voice.

“No idea about what? His birthday? Your entitlement streak? That it was even Christmas? Because you seem to really be taking this head-in-the-sand mentality to heart. Oblivious twat.” Harry’s getting real tired of being called a twat today.

He glares up at Nick from where he’s been picking guiltily at his cuticles. “I’ve not had an entitlement streak.”

Nick sighs, coming over to where he’s sitting and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Harry, you’re my best mate. I love you to death and I think you’re a good guy, but… yeah, you kind of have.”

He groans, falling backwards, his arms spread eagle. Maybe he had a point. “I’m a horrible person.” Nick laughs. “I’m the worst ever. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know how, but are you going to do anything to fix it? That’s the real question.”

“You heard him, he doesn’t want to talk to me.” He says, throwing an arm across his face.

“I’m sure if you apologized, and really meant it, he’d hear you out.” Harry shakes his head indignantly. “Yes, and I know you’re going to make the extra effort, because you’re in love with him.” 

“No I’m not!” He may find Louis unfairly attractive. He may think about Louis all the time. He may even admit that he’s imagined what it’d be like to kiss Louis, to be there for him and support him instead of constantly pushing him away. But he’s not in love with him.

“Just figure your shit out, Harry, before it’s too late.”

Harry drops his head back onto the bed, face still flushed with guilt.

 


	5. PART L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a WHOLE lot of fun writing this chapter! Shoutout to David for helping me come up with/describe all the outfits.
> 
> Bit of a continuity note: Helmut Lang sold his self titled brand to Prada in 1999, Lang retired completely in 2005 and Prada actually sold the brand to LTH in 2007. But like, roll with me here.
> 
> Also just some FYI for people who aren't obsessed with streetwear like I am:
> 
> James Jebbia - Founder of the brand 'Supreme'
> 
> Virgil Abloh - Founder/Designer for the brand 'Off-White'
> 
> Haider Ackerman - Founder/Designer for his self-titled brand
> 
> A 'body man' in the fashion industry is basically like a level below a personal assistant, they follow the celebrity around for the event, carries their purse/holds their belongings, keeps them on schedule etc.

Louis has had a long day. He ran his first open house all by himself, and closed on a loft in the Garment District, and met with three potential buyers for another penthouse he’s managing off Park. He’s had a long day and he’s tired. The sublease he managed to get is tiny, but he lives by himself and that’s what matters. He flops onto his bed, tossing his briefcase to the side. It makes a crash but he can’t be bothered to even rise up enough to see what he’d knocked over. After an hour of laying there in a vegetative state, his stomach begins protesting loudly, too loud to ignore. He groans and sets about trying to slip his loafers off while still horizontal. He should get a dog, if nothing more than just for someone to complain to when he gets home.

He pulls on two pairs of socks with his boots, two jackets and a scarf over top of his hoodie, before he steps out into the frigid January cold. He contemplates getting a dollar slice, but decides to take the time and go all the way down to the take-away Indian place on 64th.

He’s munching on naan, digging around in the bag to see if they remembered the extra sauce for his tikka masala, when he catches sight of someone in the corner of his eye. This is New York, there’s always some creepy bloke loitering in the alleyway, but Louis happens to know this creepy bloke. For a second, he considers walking past and going on up to his flat, but Harry’s pacing back and forth in front of his complex, intensely focused on his shoes, and Louis feels like that’s something that needs to be addressed.

“What on earth are you doing?” He asks, still standing a few feet away. Harry looks up, startled.

He fish-mouths for a drawn out moment and Louis shrugs, going up to the door and pulling out his keys.

“I’m here to apologize.” He hears Harry say. Louis sighs, turning with the door open to look at him, still down on the street. “I– I know last time I didn’t mean it.” He pulls his hands down in front of him, picking at his fingers. “But… I’m sorry, Louis.” He seems earnest, or at least he’s holding eye contact when he says it. “I’m really sorry.”

Louis stands there for a moment, hand still on the doorknob. Harry sighs when he gets no response, and turns away.

“Harry.” He calls, once he’s already made it a few feet down the block. “Do you want to come up?” He asks as Harry turns back to look at him hopefully.

“Yes!” He says as he jogs back over to meet Louis at the door. “Thank you, yes. Please.”

Louis gives him a tight smile, not quite ready to forgive yet.

They make it upstairs, and it’s obvious that the longer Louis stays quiet, the more anxious Harry gets. He keeps fiddling with his ears and bringing his knuckle up to his mouth to chew on. Louis hates that he recognizes all these things about his old roommate.

“I know – I know I said down there,” Harry jerks his thumb in the direction of the door, Louis still moving about in the kitchen. “that I was sorry, but I wanted to also tell you.. Why. Like, why I was apologizing. So you know I know what… What I did wrong.”

Louis looks over his shoulder at him for a long scrutinizing second before shrugging. “If that’ll make you feel better.”

“It would, yeah.” He says, picking at his cuticles again.

Louis sets a mug of tea down in front of him. He knows he must be in an especially forgiving mood since he willfully put that much sugar in it. “Go on.” He says softly, because it’s obvious Harry needs a little prompting.

“I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath and Louis chokes down the impulse to come back with a sarcastic quip about how he already said that. “I’m sorry I used you, and I’m sorry that I made you feel small. Pretty much the moment you stepped foot into my flat I had written you off as someone I wouldn’t get along with and someone who was beneath me.” He’s running his fingers over the handle of his mug, not taking a sip; at least Louis knows his nail beds won’t start bleeding.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know I was like that, I’m _not_ like that. But I guess… I got carried away, being so far from home, surrounded by… superficial people all the time.” He starts tugging at his hair in frustration. “I had no idea what I was doing. I just got so caught up in _winning_. I couldn’t– But I’m not here to make excuses for myself. There’s really no justification--”

Louis cuts him off pulling Harry’s hand into his own. “Harry, stop. It’s okay. Besides, you’re not the only one at fault, not really. I’m sorry, too.”

“No, you don’t– you’re not–” Harry says, trying to interrupt. Louis grips tighter to his hand and gives him a small smile.

“Yes, I am.” He laughs shortly. “I antagonized you, I was terrible roommate, and I didn’t respect you either. Although, for different reasons.” He pulls back, stretching his arms above his head. “It’s kind of funny, this feud between us. Don’t even remember what it was about, to be honest.” He says sarcastically. He looks back at Harry as he carries the rest of his dinner over to the coffee table. He looks like he’s thinking too hard. “This is your out, Harold, for the love of god don’t actually explain it to me. Let it go. Live and let live, and all that.”

Harry grins at him for a minute before they both dissolve into laughter. “It’s pretty funny.”

“I kept hearing from everybody how great you were, but I think it just made me hate you more!” Louis says between giggles.

“Me too! And it didn’t help that you’re so gorgeous, got my head all muddled.” Harry takes a seat beside him on the couch before sitting up ramrod straight when he realizes what he’s said. “I mean…”

“You think I’m gorgeous!” He laughs loudly again, rolling into Harry’s side. When he doesn’t laugh along Louis pokes his cheek until it dimples in annoyance. “Oh c’mon, it’s not like you’re too bad to look at yourself.” He flops back to his side of the couch, tucking his toes under Harry’s thigh. “It was a relief to get away from those tiny tight yoga outfits you always wore.”

He hears a snort and it takes Louis a minute to look up and realize it’s Harry. A smile takes over his face and he kicks out his foot. “Oh shut up, you said it first.” But they’re already laughing again.

Once they’ve calmed down, Harry’s hand resting on Louis's ankle, Harry lolls his head over to look at him. “Does this mean we could have been getting on like this for the past six months instead of mindlessly hating each other?”

For a moment, Louis thinks no. Harry’s still got a lot to make up for; _he’s_ still got a lot to make up for. But… He’s tired of this. He’s tired of having an enemy.

“I think holding hate in your heart builds character.” He says haughtily.

“That your professional opinion?” Harry asks, reaching over to tug on Louis's ear.

He turns to Harry and lifts his chin in a challenge. “I’ll have you know, that I am a licensed realtor for the state of New York, which makes me an expert on…”

“On what? Wall sconces?” Louis hits him upside the head.

They talk until the early morning. And Louis has to admit that some of it is a little flirtatious. They talk about their histories, interests, funny stories they were too proud to share when they lived together. Eventually they fall asleep on the couch, legs tangled together.

Louis scrambles to turn off his alarm as it blares from his phone forgotten on the kitchen counter. He tiptoes around Harry, as he gets ready for work, far too early to be legal. His keys have been misplaced, which unfortunately is a common occurrence in Louis’s life. Organization will never be one of his strengths. He’s actually trying to be quiet this time, but Harry startles awake anyway. He blinks up at Louis as he’s tying his tie, rubbing his eyes and giving him a sleepy smile.

“Morning.” He mumbles, voice still rough and quiet from sleep.

Louis grins at him before going back to recklessly searching for his keys. He’s running late this morning and it’s definitely not because he got distracted for a full ten minutes watching Harry sleep.

“Can I help?” Harry asks, watching in amusement as Louis trips over his briefcase, still where he had thrown it haphazardly in the middle of the floor last night.

“What? No, it’s okay.” He says, shoving a piece of bread in the toaster. “Sorry for waking you, I swear I was trying to be quiet.”

His toast pops up as he’s sat on his bed tying his loafers. Harry gets up to get it ready for him, sticking a pod in his Keurig. Louis takes the toast, now covered in peanut butter, from Harry with a grateful smile.

“You didn’t wake me.” He says. Louis glares at him, crust still hanging out of his mouth. Harry laughs. “Okay, maybe you did. But it’s fine.”

He shrugs on his coat, following Louis down the stairs and out onto the street. They turn to face each other and Louis takes a chance, pulling him into a hug. They each go their separate ways, Louis to his office in midtown and Harry to… wherever Harry went. They don’t make plans to meet up again, and Louis allows himself to admit that he’s a little disappointed with that. Harry was fun and when he wasn’t being a pretentious arse, actually kind of a nice person. He stays distracted all day, checking his blank phone for phantom messages. Harry probably doesn’t even have his number anymore. Besides, they’re not… friends. But they’re not _not_ friends. They’re more than acquaintances, and they’ve put to bed the petty quarreling. So, what are they?

It’s four days before he hears from Harry again. Almost long enough to have forgotten about the whole thing. Or at least, stop languishing over it like he’s still in secondary school. So sue him, everyone likes being pursued, that’s not a crime. 

H: _What r u doing Thursday at 4?_

Very ominous. Immediately after he’s read it, another text comes through.

H: _this is Harry btw_

Of course it’s Harry, but he guesses he did assume Harry had deleted _his_ number, so it’s only fair for Harry to assume the same.

Before he can type out any sort of response, his phone dings with yet another notification.

H: _Harry Styles, in case you have… other Harrys who text you_

This boy is too much.

L: _Thank you for clarifying, I thought I was talking to Harry, Prince of Wales._

L: _Also, I’m doing nothing at 4 on Thursday, why?_

It is one of his rare afternoons off; flats don’t sell themselves.

H: _Want to go to a fashion show with me?_

And um, hell fucking yeah he does. It’s fashion week in New York and Louis has been pining listlessly at the thought of all the wonderful new styles, just out of his reach.

L: _Which one?_

Better to act aloof and distant, he can’t be showing all his cards on the first hand.

H: _Well, I know you wear a lot of Helmut Lang, and it’s not usually a show I would go to, and I think I’ve had to sell my soul to my agent, but I’ve got a seat for myself plus one._

Fuck acting coy, Louis is in love. He’s going to be hard pressed to not just fall to his knees when he sees Harry next. Whether to kiss his feet in thanks, or give him an appreciative blowjob, no one knows.

L: _Are you fucking with me??_

H: _No?_

L: _You’re 100% serious??_

H: _Yes?_

L: _Oh my god!! Yes!! Yes I’ll go with you!! OMG_

Harry sends back a string of hearts and smileys and Louis throws his phone onto his bed so he can jump around in celebration.

 

*          *          *

 

Louis has to come straight from work, so he says he’ll just meet Harry at his apartment. It took him all night to decide what to wear. He managed to get two hours of sleep under his desk, hiding from his boss Janet. But he still looked a little worse for wear and picked up some concealer Lottie recommended on his way over, that-- and a Redbull.

He’s somehow nervous as he waits to be buzzed up, garment bag over his shoulder. A small part of him is worried that Harry only invited him out of guilt, or pity. But even if that were the case, he is still resolved to enjoy the show no matter what. He is living the dream, after all. Well, his personal dream; he’s not sure other people’s highest aspirations are to go to NYC Fashion Week. He’s ready to give Harry the benefit of the doubt, however, and all his fears are wiped away when Harry opens the door and looks at Louis with so much genuine excitement. Louis feels like he’s about to float away.

“Hi!” Harry says, stepping back to allow Louis to enter. Not much has changed since he lived here, although it admittedly looks a bit cleaner than when he left it. “I don’t normally go to street wear shows, but I convinced my agent it’d be good to extend my ‘personal brand’, whatever that means.” He laughs, grinning like an idiot.

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, if it was just for me.” Louis says, a little sheepish.

“Of course I should!” Harry’s momentarily interrupted by a tiny squeak by his feet. “I never have anyone fun to go to these things with. You’re doing me a favor, honestly.” He says, fussing the squirming fluffy kitten in his arms.

“You have a cat.” Louis says in disbelief.

Harry looks a little sheepish. “Heh, yeah. Um, it was a little quiet after you moved out. Gemma thought I needed a friend to keep me sane.” He holds it out in front of Louis's face. “Her name is Freckles.”

“Hi, Freckles.” He says quietly, scratching the soft fur behind her ears. She’s covered in brown and grey tabby markings. So tiny that Harry’s able to hold her with one hand.

After a moment, Harry clears his throat. “Um, the car will be here soon, if you wanted to change.”

“Oh! Right, I’ll just go… do that then.” Louis says, backing away toward the bathroom. Harry’s dressed already, this season’s shutter knit sweater pulled taut across his chest, baggy jeans from the same collection cuffed at his ankles. He looks great and Louis is a little concerned his choices won’t measure up.

He’s borrowed a pair of Gucci buckled boots from Nick, a navy pinstripe Balenciaga oxford from his own collection, and a pair of slim Givenchy trousers he’d gotten just for this show. They’ve got a stripe down the side and a little star on his hip; he’s kind of in love with them. He smudges the concealer under his eyes, blending it out just like Lottie showed him to last time she came to visit. His fringe has a kink in it from where his head was shoved up against the leg of his desk, so he pushes it back with his fingers. Messy hair and bloodshot eyes is new modern style, right?

When he gets back out into the living room, Harry compliments his outfit. They stand looking at each other for a beat, waiting for a notification that the car has arrived out front. It’s undeniably awkward, in a way that it hadn’t been the night Harry apologized. Louis wracks his brain for something to break the tension, but Harry’s phone goes off before he can think of anything. They make they make their way down stairs and it all feels very high class. Of course, Louis has been used to living in the lap of luxury when he was housesitting, but not so much reaping the benefits of actually being, well, luxurious.

“I’ve got to walk out front, it’s not a red-carpet per say, but there’s press and pictures. My agent’s meeting me there and wants me to talk to some magazines. You can go in around back, and I’ll meet you inside. If you want.” Harry says as they’re sliding into the backseat of the town-car. 

“Sure.” Louis says, resisting the urge to gnaw on his fingernails.

“Only if you want, though.” Harry insists.

Louis quirks up an eyebrow. “Do _you_ want me to stay with you?”

A gorgeous flush fills his cheeks. “No, it’s fine.” He smiles a little weakly, already starting to pick at his cuticles. No wonder Harry gets manicures all the time.

He angles himself towards him in the car, bringing a knee up on the seat. “Are you nervous?”

Harry glances up at him under his eyelashes. “No.” He says quietly.

Louis smirks at him, all the nervousness in himself flowing out in a rush. “What’s got you nervous, Haz? You should be a pro at this.”

He shrugs, not looking up. “Fashion week is a big deal, I guess. And… I haven’t actually been modeling that long.” 

“Really? Do tell." 

Harry meets his gaze then, running a hand through his short cropped hair. “I wasn’t discovered until my last year of University. Even then it was just modeling clothes for websites or department stores. I walked for Prada last season, right? Best experience of my life, really.” He starts talking more animatedly, moving his arms about. “But suddenly I was the ‘biggest up-and-coming young talent’” He says, using air-quotes and rolling his eyes. “It’s been a bit fast ever since then. And like I said, I’m usually all alone out there. So yeah, I’m used to it, but.” He shrugs, looking back down at his lap. “It’s not the best time.”

Louis reaches over to squeeze his wrist in a comforting gesture. “I’ll come with you.” He says, smiling softly.

“No! No, I can handle it, you don’t have--” Harry tries to stammer out.

Louis laughs loudly as they pull up to the venue. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll be fun!” He says excitedly, stomach twisting a little, but he ignores it.

The driver comes around and opens the door, a flood of noise invading the quiet car. Harry’s body man is there, ushering them forward, saying something about limiting time during interviews, and where to stand, and where to look. It’s all a bit overwhelming and Louis doesn’t really know what to focus on. He feels Harry squeeze his hand and he comes back to himself, anchoring himself through their intertwined fingers.

They take about a billion pictures. Harry likes to wrap his arm around Louis's waist and lean in to whisper stupid little comments in his ear over the loud flashes of the cameras. He lights up like a Christmas tree every time Louis laughs. Louis tries to stand back when Harry has to go up to reporters for the pre-show interviews. But Harry stands with his hands behind his back, wiggling his fingers for Louis to take hold of. He smirks confidently every time Louis steps up to take his hand. It’s stupid and totally juvenile but Louis continues to indulge him. He’s having a hard time admitting to himself that he feels a little giddy flirting like this, out in front of an audience who keep giving him looks like they want to ask who he is. He almost gets away with it, the anonymity, until they’re almost at the end of the row talking to some Internet reporter from one of those viral news sites.

“We’re used to seeing you with more couture brands, Harry. Is there a special reason you’re out here this afternoon? Not that I mind! I can’t wait to tell Miranda that I got to speak with you, I know she was expecting to get an exclusive interview at the Marc Jacob’s show.” He says with a wink. Louis has no idea who Miranda is, has already forgotten this guys name, but Harry laughs like he’s in on the joke. He probably is, because Harry’s got the memory of an elephant.

“Well, I owed a friend a birthday present, and I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Lang at the Fall/Winter Prada launch last year. We’re very excited to see the show. I got a bit of a preview with this outfit, and I’m sure he has many more innovative styles to show us tonight.” He responds, ever the professional.

Joe? Jon? It definitely started with a J, continues with the interview, asking to confirm rumors he’s walking for Bespoken in a few days. Harry of course neither confirms nor denies, like he’s been doing all night. They chat about fit and style and the ‘new direction’ the brand has been going.

As they’re wrapping up though, J-whatever finally gives into curiosity and asks. “Who’s your friend?” He eyes Louis almost a little predatory and suspicious.

Harry’s smile gets tight around the edges of his mouth. “Someone close.” He says with a degree of coldness that Louis hadn’t seen before. He steps back, wrapping his arm around Louis's waist, looking toward his body man for a signal to move on.

Louis is kind of confused by the whole thing. He thinks he knows where Harry’s coming from, but at the same time he doesn’t know what the big deal is. It was just a few disrespectful interview questions but shouldn’t he be used to that by now?

Once they’re inside with complimentary glasses of champagne, Harry leans in close. He’s been doing it all night, but this time Louis isn’t distracted by photographers and bright lights. This time he’s able to focus on just how close Harry’s lips are and how his eyelashes fan out across his cheekbones when he looks down. He also notices that Harry has to look down when he’s this close but Louis is not short and he’ll stand by that fact until his dying day; it’s Harry’s shoes, is all.

“Sorry about… Earlier. He shouldn’t have involved you. They know not to, unless I bring it up.” He says, voice low, just barely heard over the europop blaring over the speakers.

“Didn’t think you were famous enough for it to matter, Styles. Don’t feel too self-important.” Louis says, digging his elbow into Harry’s ribs.

He laughs, taking a step back, finally giving Louis a moment to fucking _breathe_. “I’m not, and don’t worry, my head’s the proper size it should be.”

Louis gives him a once over as the lights flash for everyone to take their seats. “That’s debatable. I’ve seen that fedora you like to wear. Your hat size is gigantic.”

They’re sat in the first row. It’s a bit surreal, the whole thing, but especially when Haider Ackerman offers him a stick of gum. Louis accepts because that’s what you do when Haider fucking Ackerman offers you a stick of gum, even if it is Juicy Fruit. He’s rubbing shoulders with all of his idols tonight, apparently. Virgil Abloh complimented his cufflinks at the bar. _Virgil Abloh_ , who designed the coat Louis wore and is currently at the coat check, complimented his cufflinks. James Jebbia is sitting opposite him on the other side of the runway. Harry must see his looks of complete awe and wonder because he’s been giving him a knowing smile all night.

The show is incredible, of course. They stick around and talk with a few of the other guests that they didn’t get a chance to before. Many of them are oddly surprised to hear that no, Louis is not a model. And Harry is constantly making little comments about how he needs a go-see with various designers. Louis doesn’t think his cheeks will ever go back to a shade that’s not the bright red of embarrassment.

There’s an after party and Harry makes a half-hearted gesture to say he can get them on the list. But Louis thinks if he gets any more alcohol in him, he’s going to fall asleep standing up. Staying up all night worrying over an outfit feels very different than staying up all night partying at Therapy. They walk home in silence, their hands bumping together awkwardly. Louis begs off as soon as he’s done with the tea Harry insisted he come up for. He’s got to clear his head.

If Louis thought these new feelings for Harry were weird before, now they’re downright preposterous. He almost misses his stop on the subway because he can’t stop replaying over in his head Harry’s stupid, honking, ridiculous laugh. Before, he couldn’t stand it for a second. But tonight, every time he heard it it brought a smile to his face. It’s frustrating, is what it is, this forgiving stuff. It’s fighting against every spiteful bone in Louis’s body, but somehow he knows he’s better for it. He’s better just to enjoy their new unlikely friendship, really letting go of all ties to the past.

 


	6. PART H

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I restrained myself from including a kiss cam scene and it was honestly one of the hardest things I've had to do.
> 
> Also I was going to include smut in this chapter, but then I didn't want to so... I didn't.

Over the next couple of weeks, Harry comes up with as many excuses as he can to see Louis. Those reasons are getting more and more far-fetched. He’s worried it’s becoming glaringly obvious that he’s pretending these are dates. He also wonders if Louis is also pretending they’re dates. Maybe they could stop pretending and just date for real, because as much as it surprises him and as much as he hates to admit it, he’s beginning to really like Louis.

He’s charming and funny, in a very frustrating way. He’s mischievous and combative and he challenges Harry all the time. But instead of being exhausting, Harry finds it entertaining. They’ve both met each other halfway and because of the compromise Louis has become that much more tolerable. They call each other out on their shit, when Harry gets too pretentious or Louis gets too forgetful. They begin to rely on each other. Harry tries to give him the support that Louis keeps insisting he doesn’t need, and Louis knows exactly when Harry needs help keeping his life in perspective. Louis has become that person he calls first when he gets a job or a callback. He’s the one who listens the best when Harry starts feeling the pressure of having a job that relies almost exclusively on being (and staying) attractive.

Louis calls him too, invites him over or takes him out for lunch when he has time. His apartment’s become a place where they get together and relax on the weekends. He brought Freckles over once because Louis insists he’s a dog person until she curls up on his shoulder and her little whiskers tickle his neck. Harry hasn’t brought her over again, though, because she got up on the counter and knocked over one of Louis's expensive bottles of wine, blue glass scattered all over the floor. They learn about each other and it’s never enough, Harry always wants to learn more. He wants to know that Louis has to set 5 different alarms in the morning because he never wakes up with the first one. He wants to know that Louis's weekend ritual still includes Saturday morning cartoons. He wants to know that Louis forgets to eat when he’s angry, and that he secretly loves the apple and kale salads Harry brings him for picnic lunches at his office. Harry finds Louis endlessly fascinating in a way he hadn’t before for anyone else.

It’s scary sometimes, and makes him feel a bit in over his head. Because as much as he likes to think he knows Louis, knows how to read him, there’s that tiny doubt that he may not feel the same way. Not that-- Not that Harry is feeling any particular way. He just… Can’t imagine his life without him, doesn’t even want to think about dating anyone else. But those are feelings, thoughts, emotions, to process another day, another lifetime. He needs to just be thankful he didn’t let Louis get away, that they’re friends now, and hopefully they always will be.

 

*           *           *

 

Harry’s birthday is approaching faster than he’s really ready for it. He keeps insisting that he doesn’t want anything big, just a quiet dinner with close friends. Nick is having none of it and Harry knows that when he shows up to Emily – West Village on Friday everyone he’s ever met in his time here in New York will be waiting for him. He just hopes Louis will be there, but he feels weird about asking him specifically.

He walks into the restaurant, busy shaking off the freezing rain from his overcoat before he’s bombarded by all his friends. Well, not friends, but people who are all at least vaguely familiar. They wish him happy birthday and he’s got half a mind to think Nick’s actually gone and rented the whole place out. (He has.) He’s passed around from hug to hug and he think he’s been there almost an hour by the time he’s _finally_ spoken to everybody in the place.

“I said I wanted small, quiet. Something intimate.” He complains to Nick once he has a chance to sit down with a glass of wine.

“Pish posh you can do intimate and quiet with your boyfriend later. You only turn 23 once, gotta do it right.” He says, his drink sloshing precariously as he waves it around.

Harry looks at him quizzically. “I don’t have a boyfriend?”

Nick raises his eyebrows. “You don’t?” He asks, a knowing tell in his voice.

Ironically enough, that’s right when Louis comes bursting in from the outside. There’s a round of cheers and it takes everything Harry’s got not to jump up and go to him. Nick can tell from where he’s sat close by and he’s still got that look on his face like he knows all his secrets, even the ones Harry doesn’t know himself yet. Maybe he does.

“Well if it isn’t the man of the hour!” Louis says, finally, _finally_ , making his way over to their table. His face is still schooled into that smile he keeps around friends. That look that you know it’s Louis entertaining, always trying to be larger than life, center of attention. He softens though, when he comes round for a hug, giving Harry a private smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Happy Birthday, Haz.” He whispers, lips moving against Harry’s earlobe. It’s intimate and quiet and for a moment it’s all he can focus on over the din of the restaurant.

Harry keeps finding himself at Louis’s side all night. He tries to mingle, he really does, but the more glasses handed to him the less inhibitions he has to stop shamelessly clinging to Louis.

He’s been slurring his words for a while, it nearing closer and closer to the end of the party, when Louis suggests he get an Uber home. Harry throws a bit of a fit on the sidewalk to get Louis to come home with him. Harry would feel bad about the manipulation, but it’s his birthday and Louis gives him a fond smile and another kiss on the cheek that suggests he didn’t have to go to such dramatic acts after all.

Harry gives Freckles an enthusiastic hello, falling to his knees right in the middle of the hallway. Louis manages to step over them both; arms piled high with Harry’s presents from the party. Louis rolls his eyes at them both and places the gifts gently on the coffee table.

“Alright, Drunky, time for a nice big glass of water and into bed.” He says, going over to the kitchen. Freckles squirms out of Harry’s arms to follow.

“Nooooo!” He whines, flopping over onto the floor. “Presents!” Louis comes to stand over him, one of Harry’s plastic cups he collected in Uni in his hands.

“I should have let Grimmy take your drunk ass home.” He mutters under his breath. “Fine, water, then presents, then bed.” Louis says, rolling his eyes. They’re going to get stuck like that if he’s not careful, Harry thinks. “They’re not going to get stuck like that.” Oh, he must have said that last bit out loud. “Now up you get. I couldn’t find any straws so you can’t drink it from the floor.”

Louis gives him a hand up and helps him maneuver onto the couch. “You say everything you think out loud when you drink, Harold. No filter.” He jokes, watching as he take a long sip.

Once Harry’s finished he looks at Louis expectantly, holding out his hand for a present. Louis's eyes squint up as he laughs and Harry’s sober enough now to swallow down his comment about how pretty Louis looks when he smiles.

They make it through most of the presents and another glass of water. Freckles is playing with the discarded tissue paper and Harry is still trying to figure out the puzzle ring Taylor got him. He barely notices that Louis is starting to get nervous until he shifts around for the fifth time in as many seconds.

“You alright, Lou?” He asks, sliding the tangled bands back and forth.

Louis clears his throat, shifting once again so both his feet are underneath him. “Yeah, um.” He clears his throat again and Harry looks up. This isn’t normal, Louis seems… nervous. Louis doesn’t get nervous.

He doesn’t quite meet Harry’s gaze as he speaks again, taking the ring from his hands and putting it back together in a few swift motions. Amazing.

“So… I didn’t get you a birthday present.” He says, sliding the completed ring around his thumb a few times. Harry nods, trying and failing to get Louis to look at him directly. “But, um, I mean, I kind of…” He chews on his bottom lip, setting the ring down and pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands.

“Kind of?” Harry prompts. Louis startles and finally looks him in the eye, lips bitten raw from his nervous chewing.

“I kind of wanted to take you out, like on a date, an official one.” He says all in a rush, closing his eyes briefly.

While Harry sits in stunned silence Louis begins to ramble, fiddling with a loose string on the edge of Harry’s jumper. “I mean… I like you Harry, which is so confusing because before I didn’t but now I do. And sometimes I think maybe you like me too, but then I think: why would you like someone like me? But um, we hang out all the time and you seem to like me then. Of course, then I didn’t want to ruin our friendship so I didn’t ask you before now, but Rose called me a bunda-mole and I don’t know what that means but –“

Harry finally gets enough sense to interrupt him, but apparently he does not get enough sense to interrupt him like a normal person. No, he just grabs Louis face, leans forward, and plants one on him. Idiot.

Or, well, he feels like an idiot until Louis starts kissing back. And it’s amazing. Harry would say it’s everything like he imagined it would be, but he never really let himself imagine what kissing Louis would be like. It felt like it’d be weird, thinking about kissing your enemy-turned-best-friend-turned-confusing-crush. But kissing Louis _is_ amazing. His lips are soft and warm against his numb drunk ones, alcohol still having an effect. When Louis brings his hand to slide into Harry’s hair, he kind of feels like he’s melting.

They kiss until they’re breathless and even then Harry just tucks his face into Louis's neck, staying close and loving the exciting tingly feeling blooming in his chest. Louis laughs softly, scratching absently at the base of Harry’s skull.

“So… Is that a yes? You’ll go out with me?” Louis asks, pulling away a bit to look him in the eyes.

Harry beams, still giddy. “Of course.” Louis grins right along with him.

The clock flashes above the stove in the kitchen. 3AM. Jesus, when did it get so late? Early? Louis groans, realizing the same. “I’ve got to go.” He says, flopping onto his back against the arm of the sofa, making no moves to leave.

Harry contemplates him for a second. “Stay.” Louis blinks over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Not like that.” Harry says through a laugh. “We can stay over the covers if you want. I could even sleep on the couch. But it’s late and a cab from here would be a fortune.”

Louis shakes his head, struggling to get up. “I’ll take the subway. I’ll be fine, only got to change lines once.”

Harry makes a desperate grab for his hand. “Please.” He says, fluttering his eyelashes, trying to be alluring.

“Do you have a twitch?” Louis jokes before sighing, taking his hand fully and intertwining their fingers. “Fine, so long as I’m not on that bloody futon.”

“Never.” Harry says vehemently.

 

*          *          *

 

Their first date is to a Knicks game because apparently it’s a ‘bloody crime, Harold’ that he’s never been. Which Harry thinks is a very British thing to say about an American sport. Their seats are courtside because Louis knows people and Harry spills his lemonade just as soon as he gets it because Louis keeps jumping up to yell at the refs. It’s hilarious, how invested he is in this game. Harry just sits back and watches him, instead of paying any attention to the court. At the beginning, Louis would turn to him and try to explain everything that was going on, but he kept getting distracted mid sentence, eyes focused on the players’ movements. He must realize later that Harry really doesn’t give two shits about basketball, because he keeps looking over every few seconds to give him a small guilty smile, catching Harry staring.

“We can go, if you want.” He says, during a time-out the other team called.

Harry shakes his head, smile never once leaving his face this evening. “I’m having a great time.”

Louis looks at him quizzically. “But… You’re not watching the game?" 

“Watching you watch the game is the most fun I think I’ll ever have. Who knew the biggest fan here would be a brit who’s never even played?” He says, laughing. Louis huffs, leaning back in his seat. Harry leans over and kisses him chastely. “Its adorable.”

He keeps up the ruse of annoyance for a few more seconds, Harry kissing his shoulder, cheek, neck, lips again, before he cracks. Breaking out into a brilliant smile and pulling Harry in for a pretty heated snog, considering they’re in public.

Louis walks him back home, their tangled fingers loosely swinging between them. He’s chattering on about the game still, bad calls and missed plays, when Harry stops them and pulls over for a detour.

“Where are you taking me, Harold?” Louis asks loudly.

Harry just tugs him along, wiggling at the iron gate just the right way until it gives. It’s a tiny park, just a bench, a few rose bushes and a patch of blooming ranunculus. Louis looks around, smiling, the moon hitting his face just so and the bushes keeping out most of the noise from the street. It’s always so tranquil here, and instantly Harry is taken back to his first few lonely weeks here in New York.

“The church next door tends to this place.” He says, motioning to his right. “I used to come here all the time, especially when school got to be… a bit much.” He takes a seat on the bench, pulling a knee up to his chest.

Louis gives him a questioning look, taking the spot next to him. “I don’t… I didn’t know you went to school here in New York?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I went to FIT. It was the whole reason I came to the states, really.” He sighs. “But… it was hard, being so far away from home. And FIT was hard in general. I needed a place to myself sometimes. When the city get overwhelming, all the noise, all the people.” He gives Louis a little smile. “You know I’m not really like that.”

Louis nods, he knows. He knows that sometimes Harry just needs his space, needs things to slow down and be quiet so he can process it all.

“Doing yoga helps, but.” He shrugs. “I didn’t have that then.”

Louis stays quiet, eventually taking Harry’s hand again. “Any particular reason why we’re here?” He asks gently, curious.

Harry shrugs. “I know the reason you love the Knicks is because Niall took you to so many games your first few months here. And I wanted to share something similar. Something… comforting, I guess.”

He meets Louis gaze and the other boy is looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “Thank you, Harry.” He brings their hands up to his mouth and kisses Harry’s fingers. “For this, and for everything else.”

Harry laughs, surprised. “What else have I done?” He asks with another smile.

Louis settles back against the hard wood of the bench, tilting his head up to look at the overcast sky. Harry leans back next to him, pillowing his head against Louis's shoulder.

“You’ve… given me a lot of perspective.” He murmurs. Harry waits for him to expand on his thoughts, it always takes him a minute to organize what he wants to say. “I came to New York for no real reason.” He shrugs, jostling Harry’s head. “I guess I felt like it would have all the answers. All my problems would go away once I got here, or at least I thought. And I was running away a bit, from the responsibility of being the oldest sibling, postgrad always looming over my head, a slew of sacked hourly jobs. By the time I moved in with you, I had the illusion that I had my life together, but you were right, I really wasn’t doing much for myself.” Harry flinches, not wanting to remember how poorly he had treated Louis when they were roommates. Louis rubs the back of his hand comfortingly. “Don’t think like that.” He says, because he really always knows what Harry’s thinking about. “It all worked out in the end.” Louis smiles, tilting his chin down to look at him.

“It really did.” Harry whispers, lips twitching upwards.

The mid-February chill and a soft drizzle of rain forces them to leave their little oasis and finish their journey. They stop in front of Harry’s building and Louis pulls away, stopping Harry from hopping right up the steps and into the warmth of the foyer. He looks back questioningly, Louis chuckling at his confused face.

“Don’t you want to come up?” Harry asks. Louis always comes up for a cup of tea after their nights out.

Louis looks bashfully down at his scuffed trainers, digging the toe of one into a crack in the sidewalk. “Wouldn’t be the gentlemanly thing to do, after a first date.” He says, taking Harry’s hand again.

“I guess not.” Harry says, suddenly bashful. He feels much too hot all over, cheeks flushing and he really hopes Louis can’t feel his palms sweating. This is a _date_ and Louis is a _gentleman_ and it’s too much but so perfectly wonderful at the same time.

“I’ll call you. Give the minimum three day aloof window where I pretend I’m not thinking about you every second. Then we go to dinner where we both wear suits and ties and things we don’t want to. After that, I have to come up with something more creative and romantic, like stargazing and a picnic in Central Park. And _then_ finally, I can come up when you invite me.” He says, twinkle in his eye.

Harry mirrors his mischievous smirk. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to go, is it?” They shuffle closer to each other as a neighbor comes out of his complex, interrupting their little bubble of intimacy. “Can’t I have a say?”

“You can have anything you want, baby.” Louis places his hands on Harry’s hips, sliding under his coat, fingers freezing against his blouse.

After Harry’s recovered from the whole ‘baby’ thing, he gets his wits about him enough to respond: “Well, if it were up to me, I’d want you to call me the minute you get home; I couldn’t wait three whole days without hearing from you. I’d want you to meet me for a dollar slice after work like you always do, no fancy suits. We could split a black and white, to make it special, and you give me two-thirds instead of half because we both know you do that already when you think I won’t notice.” He smiles, thumbs now warm rubbing against Harry’s hip-bones. “We could go stargazing and a picnic if you wanted, sometime later. That sounds like a great third date idea. But I think before any of that.” Harry whispers, leaning in closer. “Before any of that, I think you should come upstairs.”

Louis's eyes get darker, his breaths come quicker, and Harry finally feels like he has the upper hand. He slides his hands down Louis's back, squeezing his ass and bringing him up for a searing kiss. A kiss that makes him scramble for purchase against Harry’s silk shirt.

“ _God_ , you’re so _hot_.” Louis breathes against his lips.

Harry steps away, back towards his flat, Louis making a little whine. “So, I’ll ask you again. Don’t you want to come up?”

And it’s a race to the door.


	7. PART L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to call this chapter 'meet the parents'. Honestly, Rose is probably my favorite character in this fic, well after Freckles of course. 
> 
> Portuguese translations:
> 
> ‘Não seja grosseiro.’ - Don't be rude.
> 
> “Tchau, Querido.” - Bye, Love.

Louis thinks what he loves most about Harry is holding his hand. He loves a lot of things about Harry, his fingers, his mouth, his _cock_ , but if he had to give all that up, only left with holding hands, Louis thinks he’d be okay. They hold hands all the time now, always gravitating towards each other. It’s wonderfully safe and anchoring in a way that’s almost surprising to him. It’s surprising because Louis never really knew how much of a romantic he was, not until now. He was still in the closet through sixth form, dating a few girls here and there just to _really_ make sure that’s not what he wanted. There was a brief stint, right after he finished school, where he came out and fell in love with anyone and everyone who even slightly shared mutual attraction. But once he made it to New York City the thing to do was hook-ups and one-night stands, not boyfriends and romance. That was for stuffy old people, not trendy young 22-year-olds. 

But now, he really gets to flex his committed-relationship muscles. Harry’s his best friend and Louis can’t really pin down exactly when that happened but it did. And now he’s his best friend plus flowers and kissing and Louis may or may not have a few songs about Harry scribbled down in his journals. Not that he has any time to write in those journals anymore. He loves his job, really. He’s excited and enthused about it in a way he hasn’t been about… anything else really. But it’s a lot of work, hard work, and that’s something he’s been able to avoid for at least the last three years of his life, if not even longer before that.

He tries, he does, to find a balance between work and his social life, his social life that includes Harry in a very significant amount. But it ends up being quite a few late night texts and knowing the florist on 6th by name. (She’s great really, Suzie, 56, just got divorced and is thinking about getting a cat. Louis is always more than delighted to show her the latest photoshoot he’s had with Freckles.)

They’ve gone through the cliché boyfriend dates, slowly but surely, in their own fashion, of course. Their dinner to Patsy’s, they dressed in joggers and ‘I heart NYC’ t-shirts to boot. At their picnic in Central Park, they made it a mission to catch a squirrel. Thankfully, they were unable to, because Louis didn’t realize till after just how serious Harry was when he said he’d like to keep one as a pet. They went to a bar called Puzzles where you could play board games while you drank horribly pretentious craft beers, and almost came to fisticuffs over Monopoly. It’s almost like Harry _wanted_ him to cheat, since he insisted Louis be banker. It’s just barely too late in the season to go ice skating, which Harry was much too excited about. But they do end up taking a cooking class with Niall and his new boyfriend Liam. It goes terribly and Harry ends up doing the cooking for all four of them, but they had a laugh and that’s what matters.

Louis is perched up on the counter top, box open in front of him looking at fabric samples. It’s a weekend, and a day they both have off. Even though this morning was spent lazing about in bed, Louis had been itching for something to do. Harry keeps shoving different variations of Italian meringue in his face to try. They’re all amazing, and he says so, but Harry just scoffs that Louis has no idea what he’s talking about.

“It’s granular again! Utter shit, just like the last batch.” He exclaims, thunking his head against the counter. Louis scoops more out with his fingers. Tastes alright to him.

“So let’s see if we’ve got this right. You’re baking because you had a stressful week, but the baking is just making you more stressed out? That’s what’s happening?” Because that’s fucking mental. Louis doesn’t mention that last bit out loud though.

“Shut up.” Harry says through a smile.

Louis’s phone dings from across the room and he hops off the counter. “Well, I’m off.”

“Don’t leave me all alone. I think I’ll go mad if I have to beat another egg white.” Harry whines, wrapping his tentacle arms around Louis’s waist, making it very difficult for him to put on his jacket.

“Beat something else then.” He shrugs him off, slipping his feet into his shoes by the door.

Harry blinks innocently up at him, covered in confectioners sugar  and looking like an angel. Louis never stood a chance. 

“All right, c’mon then. But bundle up, though, because the bleachers are cold.” Louis says, tapping his foot impatiently.

Harry springs up from the barstool, coming over to brush a kiss to Louis’s unshaven cheek before bounding off again to his room.

“Where are we going?” He calls, voice muffled from his closet. There’s a loud crash and Louis winces. 

“The Bronx. Spring team tryouts are today. I told Matheus I’d be there.” He says, looking up as Harry reappears, head stuck up the sleeve of his jumper and a new pair of trousers, fly still undone. At least he’s not got egg on them.

He struggles for a bit before Louis caves and comes over to help him get sorted. “I can’t believe they pay you to wear clothes, can’t even get yourself into them without making a mess of it.”

“Ha. Ha.” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. The static in his hair makes it stand up on end like a loon but he doesn’t seem to care as he hops about with one boot on. “Wait.” He pauses, both feet on the ground. “Matheus?”

Louis waits for him to expand on his question, but they just end up staring at each other. “Yes?”

“I haven’t-- Is Rose going to be there?” Harry asks, looking more panicked by the minute.

“Yes?” What’s he trying to get at? “Everything alright?” Louis asks while Harry manically fixes his hair in the reflection of the toaster.

His head pops up like one of those meerkats behind the kitchen counter, eyes wide and hair still horribly disarrayed. “I haven’t met them yet.” He says, like that explains everything.

“I-- No, you haven’t.” Louis follows him back into the bedroom where he’s rummaging through his dresser drawers again. “Does it matter? What are you doing? We have to go unless you want to pay for an Uber.”

Harry’s holding up two seemingly identical cashmere sweaters. Both are also very similar to the one he’s wearing.

“Haz, what’s wrong?” Louis asks softly, taking them and placing them on the bed. He cups Harry’s chin so they’re looking at each other; Harry’s eyes still dart away nervously. 

“It’s nothing. Let’s go.” He makes for a moment like he’s about to shrug Louis off and head for the door, but he stays when Louis runs a hand down his arm.

“Not nothing.” Louis says with finality. “What’s the big deal? It’s just Matty and Rose. You’ll love ‘em." 

“Of course I will, I’m not-- That’s not--” He sighs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “They’re your family, Lou, for all intents and purposes. What if they don’t love _me_?” He asks desperately.

Louis wants to laugh, but the look on Harry’s face says he shouldn’t. “Of course they’re going to love you.” Well, Rose might give him a hard time but now doesn’t seem like the right time to bring that up. “Matheus’ll take the mick that you can’t play football, but I think that’s all you’ve got to worry about with him.” He scratches under his chin. “Rose just wants what’s best for me. We’re very alike in that way, very protective. You’ll do great, Love. You could charm the birds out of the trees, this is nothing.”

“But that’s the thing, it’s not nothing. It’s-- They have to approve of me, because if they don’t then…” This time, Louis laughed.

“How about this, even though I am one hundred percent positive they’re going to love you, I promise that even if they don’t, I will still be your boyfriend.” He says, suppressing a smile. 

Harry actually seemed genuinely placated by the gesture, though he still had to go through two outfit changes before he was ready. Louis made him pay for the Uber.

“Louis!” A familiar voice calls. He and Harry are leaning against the side of the bleachers, just out front of the locker rooms. Rose has yet to show her face. “You’re late, we thought you might not make it.” Matheus says, checking behind him for the rest of the team.

“A king is never late, everyone else is simply early.” He says haughtily.

“Don’t quote _The Princess Diaries_ , that’s lame.” Matheus laughs as Louis gets him in a headlock.

“Oh? Is it lamer than knowing where that quotes from? Is it?” Louis is laughing just as hard.

They wrestle for a minute until Rose appears at Harry’s shoulder. “Have they been at this long?” She asks. Harry startles, jumping about a foot into the air.

Louis pops up, shoving Matheus in the direction of the pitch. “Go warm up. Wanna talk to your mum.” Mat huffs in annoyance, starting up a leisurely jog. “Nothing half-assed!” He yells until he starts running faster.

“Language.” Rose reprimands.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Nothing half- um.” He begins at the same volume. “I don’t even know how to say that without cursing.” He mutters.

“Nothing half-done.” Harry supplies.

Rose nods at him, very pleased. “I want him around more. You are not a very good influence, Querido.” She nudges Louis in the ribs with her elbow.

“I take personal offense to that. I am a fantastic influence.” He steps forward to wrap an arm around Harry’s waist. 

“Introduce me properly.” Rose says expectantly, looking to Harry.

“Yes, ma’am.” He turns to stand between them. “Rose, this is Harry, my boyfriend. Harry, this is Rose, my not-mum.”

She glares at him with mock outrage, shaking Harry’s hand pleasantly. “Are you saying I look old enough to be your mamãe?”

“Never, Rosy. Don’t look a day over 20!” He says, pulling her in close.

“Good because I am only ten years older than you.” She blushes, reciprocating the hug. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I have heard much.” She smiles when Louis refuses to let her go.

“Yes, um. The pleasure’s all mine. Lou talks about you… All the time.” Harry says, his speech slower than usual.

“Harold here was nervous to meet you, can you believe it?” Louis laughs, finally releasing Rose in a flourish, leading them over to the bleachers. “I said he had nothing to worry about. See?” He says, about to turn back to them when Matheus calls him to the sidelines. He jogs over to walk him through last minute drills, getting roped into helping a few of Matheus’s friends as well.

He gets back to the bleachers as tryouts start in full force. He can see Harry looking a little scared. Rose, on the other hand, looks happy as a clam, greeting Louis warmly and pulling him to sit between them. Louis gives them both a curious gaze but Harry keeps staring straight ahead and Rose has turned to talk to one of the other parents in attendance. He angles his shoulder and faces Harry, mouthing ‘What?’ exaggeratedly.

Harry shakes his head, eyes still facing forward. Louis slides down the bleacher to talk to him. “What’s up?”

He shakes his head again. When Louis doesn’t move out of his space, he smiles, just a little, and leans around to glance at Rose who’s still looking away and talking in very fast Portuguese. “I think she likes me.” He says to Louis conspiratorially, grinning ear to ear.

“Yeah?” He quirks up an eyebrow, lips tugging upwards. 

“She wouldn’t be so harsh if she didn’t think we were, like, serious, right?” Harry asks hopefully.

“Harsh?” Because that’s not how it’s supposed to go. Rose is the nicest person he’s ever met. He’s about to turn around and ask her about it when Harry pulls his face back to look at him.

“No, it’s a good thing. This is good, you’ll see.” Louis is a little confused as to why Harry thinks Rose being mean to him is a good thing, but whatever makes him happy.

Matheus won’t know if he makes the team until next week sometime. Louis is sure he will though. When Harry says as much, Matheus laughs loudly before Rose smacks him upside the head. ‘Não seja grosseiro.’ Harry, bless him, takes it in stride, laughing along about how he really never has been very good at sports. Rose gives Louis the stink eye when Harry mentions how much he teases him for it. 

Louis takes them all out for frozen yogurt, with Lucas and David because Rose always seems to know when Matheus’s friends are looking for an excuse not to go home. They get along famously, Harry and Rose. And when they all start to head their separate ways, she pulls him into a hug and whispers something into his ear to make him grin and try to hide a blush. 

“Tchau, Querido.” Rose says when she gets around to Louis. “You’ve picked a good one, I’m glad for you.” She pulls back, hands on his shoulders and gives him a soft smile.

“Bye, mum.” And for a minute, it doesn’t even feel like a stupid inside joke.

He and Harry take the subway back, shoulders bumping as they stand together gripping the overhead rail.

“That went well, I think.” Harry says shyly. Louis nods, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“I knew it would, you’re brilliant.” He risks taking his hand off the stabilizer to rub Harry’s back firmly. He’s lived in New York for almost four years; he can ride the subway freestanding. He cannot ride the subway freestanding and Harry has to catch him around the waist before he falls over against the opening doors.

“You’re a mess.” He chuckles fondly.

Louis grins at him. “That’s our dynamic. You’re brilliant, I’m a mess. It works for us.” He says, stepping closer as more people pile onto the train.

“You’re brilliant too.” Harry mumbles, pressing a kiss to his temple. It’s said a bit more serious than the joking atmosphere that Louis was going for, but he didn’t know how much he really needed the reassurance until, well, he got it. “You’re so good with Matheus.” Harry says, conversationally.

Louis shrugs, looking down. He’s never been very good with compliments. “He’s a good kid.” But Harry’s already shaking his head. 

“No, it’s more than that.” He leads them up out onto the street, already heading to Louis’s without having to ask. “Rose told me-- Well, she said, that when you two met.” Harry pauses, looking over at Louis as they wait at the crosswalk. “She told you that her son was devastated he didn’t get onto his school’s football team, and she didn’t know how to console him. And you, without even thinking, offered to help.” Louis nods, he knows the story. “You were there every weekend that summer, helping him practise.” 

Louis nods again, fishing his keys out and going up to his flat, keeping his face turned away to hide his blush.

“No, Louis. That’s amazing. _You’re amazing_. What you did was so selfless, and it obviously impacted Matheus a lot. Seeing how hard he worked today.” Harry insists, planting his hands on Louis’s shoulders as they loiter by the coat closet, making sure Louis can’t look away.

“He’s a special kid. No one should give up on their dreams just because they don’t have someone to teach them.” Louis shrugs off his grip, turning to shove his vans off his feet. He sighs, knowing Harry is watching him cautiously. “I just, I know what it’s like not to have someone, like a dad. To teach you how to play footie and change a tire and use a crescent wrench.” He leans against the doorframe, picking at a pill on his jumper. “My mum was amazing, don’t get me wrong. She taught me all that and more, but she had four other kids, yeah? It would have been loads of help to have an older brother, someone to, I don’t know, show me the ropes?” He shrugs again. “I wanted to do that for someone else.”

Harry regards him quietly. “You’re gonna make a great dad someday.” He says, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Louis brings a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking down to his socked feet. “I hope so.” He doesn’t say he’s thought about being a great dad with Harry. But when he looks up and meets his eyes, it’s there unsaid in between them. It’s a little weird because it’s _kids_ and _marriage_ , but this is _Harry_ , and kids and marriage and forever doesn’t quite seem so scary anymore with Harry by his side. 

Then the moment’s over and Harry’s turning away, already chattering on about what to make for dinner, and how they should invite Niall and Liam over like they’d mentioned last week, and Louis is left in the entryway, a little whiplashed and a lot in love.

 


	8. PART H

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Looney Tunes voice* That's all folks!
> 
> But no really, I've had a really great time writing this and I'm sad it's over but honestly so proud of myself for finally finishing it. Thank you all so so much for reading and supporting me. I love you all so much and I can't wait to write more!

It’s not until a few weeks later that he gets to really see what Louis is capable of. He’s an asshole for even thinking of it, but Harry really didn’t expect Louis to be very good at the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing. He’s simultaneously scatterbrained about his life and has tunnel vision with his job. That combination makes for a lot of ignored calls and a lot of ‘sorry I’m late, got caught up’. It’s okay though, because when it really matters, Louis gets it done. And apparently, Harry getting a bit of a cold after a photoshoot outside really, _really_ matters.

“Babe, get back in bed, you knew I was coming.” Louis says as soon as he’s in the door. Harry’s wrapped up in his duvet, huddled in the kitchen waiting for his tea to be done. Louis texted him twenty minutes ago saying he was on his way over, all because Harry just hinted at feeling poorly. He’s got a few bags in his hands with Harry’s favorite bodega’s logo on them.

“I can make a cup of tea for myself, Lou. I’m not at death’s door, just a bit under the weather.” As he says it, his voice cracks and a cough rattles through his ribcage.

Louis comes over after he sets the groceries on the ground, pulling him into a hug and petting Harry’s hair away from his sweaty forehead.

“You’re burning up, Love. And that cough sounds like the grim reaper’s come to town. I’ll finish up with this, at least go sit on the couch for me.” He says, bodily moving Harry toward the living room. Freckles comes and curls up on his lap once he’s seated, bumping her head against his fingers for a scratch behind the ears.

“When was the last time you ate?” Louis asks, head in the fridge.

Harry shrugs. “Throat hurts too much to eat much.” He croaks out.

Louis gives him a withering look. “I got some stuff to make soup. Got my mum’s recipe memorized by heart; the girls got sick so much. It’ll be ready in a jiff. Want me to put on a film for you?” He comes over with the mug of tea and two tablets of cold medicine.

“I think I’ll just go back to sleep.” That’s all he’s been doing the past two days, but it never really feels like enough.

Louis smiles at him a little sadly, tucking the covers tight around him. “We’ll get you feeling better soon, I promise.” Harry doesn’t know what happens next because Freckles is kneading her claws into his arm and he’s warm from all the blankets and he falls right back asleep the moment Louis steps away.

He’s roused later by a soft kiss to his temple and someone brushing a hand through his hair. It’s disorienting because he fell asleep when it was still light out, and now it’s dim, his whole flat lit by one reading lamp by the oversized armchair in the corner.

“Gotta eat something for me, Love. Then you can go back to sleep.” Louis's voice says. Harry turns from where his head was smooshed into his pillow. It’s his favorite pillow, the one off his bed that he’s used since he still lived at home with his mum; Louis must have brought it out for him.

He sits up and see’s Louis's favorite book wedged over the armrest of ‘his chair’, as Louis has now claimed it, since that’s always where he ends up when Harry falls asleep halfway during any movie they try to watch together, completely sprawled out over every inch of the sofa. Louis's got his glasses on and his eyes twinkle behind them in the faint light. Maybe Harry’s a bit more sick and loopy then he let on.

“Just a little. I don’t want you to take any more medicine until you get something in your stomach.” Louis prompts again and Harry realizes he’s been staring for quite some time.

He tries to clear his throat, but it just feels like knives going down so he sits up instead. “Thanks, babe.” He says, an octave lower than his normal voice, taking the bowl of soup from him.

He takes some more pills, trusting Louis to keep track of how much he’s had, and falls asleep again, this time making it all the way back to his bed. Louis must have put new sheets on, because Harry sweat through the last set when his fever was at its worst the night before. There’s also a little vaporizer Harry definitely did not own before today steaming away on the nightstand.

In the morning, his alarm blares because he never remembered to turn it off for his daily yoga routine and he groans in frustration, burying his throbbing head into the mattress. It goes off again and he’s about to reach for his phone to smash it against the wall when it suddenly cuts off mid ring. He lifts his head in confusion, blinking at the dark shadows of his room, barely illuminated by the early morning light.

Louis is there, his hair pointing out in different directions, standing by Harry’s bedside table in only his boxers. He fumbles with Harry’s phone before placing it face down on the tissue box.

“Budge over, the sofa is killing my back.” He says, voice low and gravely and if Harry’s head didn’t hurt so much, and there wasn’t so much snot coming out of every orifice of his body, he might say it sounds sexy too.

“I’m poorly, you can’t ask me to do things.” He mumbles, throat feeling a bit better than it did yesterday. Only a bit, though. He can almost feel Louis rolling his eyes as he slides his arms under Harry to move him over and make room on the bed.

Once he’s under the covers Louis goes to pull him in close for a cuddle, but Harry resists. “I’ll get you sick.” He protests weakly.

Louis laughs softly, planting a dry kiss on his lips, and wrapping an arm around his waist. “I don’t get sick. Now shh, I’m trying to sleep.”

He wakes up again later in the morning and when he rolls over, Freckles’s tail is flicking in his face and Louis’s nowhere to be found. He’s probably at work; he likes to go in pretty early. Harry pulls a sweater on over his head that’s probably Louis's since the arms are so short. He shuffles into the kitchen, cuffs of his plaid pajama bottoms skimming against the floor. To his surprise, Louis is in the kitchen making breakfast. He’s got an assortment of fruits from the fruit basket in the blender waiting, a tea steeping on the counter, and a couple pieces of the seed bread Harry loves but never buys because it’s too expensive pop out of the toaster.

“G’morning.” Harry mumbles, bringing his fingers up to rub at his gritty eyes. He feels Louis's arms wrap around his waist and smiles, hands still over his face.

“Are you feeling any better today?” Louis asks, planting a kiss to Harry’s sternum.

Before he even gets a chance to reply a wet cough wracks through his body. Louis looks at him with pity and hands him the mug of tea. Harry drinks it, even though he really prefers coffee in the mornings.

“Why aren’t you at work?” He asks, sliding onto one of the mismatched stools at the edge of the counter.

“Called and told them I wasn’t coming in, said my partner was sick.” He shrugs, turning on the blender.

“Partner?” Harry asks, bending down to put Freckles up on the bar with him.

Louis leans his elbows on the counter so she can rub up against his face. “Holds more weight than ‘boyfriend’ and makes people nervous that if they say no they’ll be labeled homophobic. Don’t worry about it.” He smiles and finishes up Harry’s breakfast.

“You don’t need to stay here with me, you should go into work.” Harry frowns.

“Nonsense. Now finish eating your breakfast and you can have more cold medicine.” He says, going over to ‘his chair’ and flipping his laptop open on the coffee table, GMA on mute flashing in the background.

This obviously isn’t the first time Louis has spent the night. But it’s the first time he stayed over without Harry explicitly asking him to. It really shouldn’t be a big deal, and it’s not, but it’s domestic and makes Harry feel cared for in a way he hasn’t since he moved to New York.

The cool smoothie helps his throat feel better and the tea actually does clear up his sinuses. He leans against the counter watching Louis work. His glasses keep slipping down his nose as he types and there’s a smudge on his cheek from where his pen rubbed against it when he pushed them back up twenty minutes ago. Harry just sits and watches, a small smile on his face. He loves this man. He loves him and he wants to spend every morning just like this, maybe not feeling poorly, but still, just like this.

He walks over to Louis, prying the papers away from his lap and taking their place. Louis looks up, smiling, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and rubbing his back.

“Y’alright, Love?” He asks, fumbling to take his glasses off and set them on the coffee table.

Harry smiles, softly cupping Louis's face, brushing his thumb over his cheekbone. He stares into his eyes and asks himself: is now the right time? And, yeah, it might as well be.

“I love you.” He says, knocking their foreheads together.

Louis beams instantly, eyes crinkling up like they always do and he squeezes Harry’s hips. “I love you, too.” A ghost of a laugh can be heard in his voice.

Of course, Harry ruins the moment by coughing loudly.

Louis stays with him until Harry’s better, or at least feeling less like a zombie. True to his word, Louis doesn’t get sick, which makes Harry a bit grumpy and envious. Which is very backwards to be upset your boyfriend _didn’t_ get sick even though he was quarantined up with you for three days. When Louis goes back to his apartment, Harry feels a bit lost again. He doesn’t know how to broach the subject, especially with their history, but also because they’ve only been dating for not even three months. It comes up naturally the next week though, and it’s Louis who brings it up, kind of.

“The student I’ve been subleasing from is coming back from his study abroad next month.” Louis says over noodles at a tiny ramen shop near his work.

“Oh? Where’s he been?” Harry says, trying to keep his excitement down at this perfect opportunity. 

“Sweden, I think. Norway? One of those. I can never get those three right.” He says, scrunching up his face in thought.

Harry picks at his nails before going back to fidget with his cup of green tea. “What are you going to do? When he comes back?” 

Louis is the picture of ease as shrugs, picking up his spoon again. “Dunno, I still don’t think I could afford a place by myself. But I want to be closer to work, near W 60th I think.”

“I’ve been thinking about… finding a new place.” Harry says hesitantly, his words coming out slower that usual.

“Oh, really? Where at? I can ask Lauren if she knows anywhere for sale.” He replies, already pulling out his phone. 

“Yeah, um, since this contract with Prada is going so well, I thought buying a place would be a good… investment.” He brings his hand up to his face to chew on his knuckles. 

Louis looks up and gives him a questioning look. “Why are you nervous, Haz?”

 Harry instantly straightens, wrenching his hands away to hide them behind his back. “I’m fine. Lauren say anything?”

Louis squints his eyes, looking at him like he can see right through Harry’s every move. “Don’t change the subject. What are you nervous about?” 

Maybe those ‘excitement’ butterflies were actually nervous butterflies because Harry can feel the sweat rolling down his back even though it’s cool inside. He is suddenly very, very afraid of what Louis’s reaction will be when he suggests living together.

“Do you-- Do you maybe think… What do you think about living together?” He says, rushing out the last bit and sticking his knuckle back in his mouth.

Louis blinks at him, obviously not expecting that. He purses his lips and Harry lets out a long breath. Of course it was a stupid idea. Harry’s obviously moving way too fast. He opens his mouth to take it all back when Louis speaks up.

“Are you sure that would be a good idea?” He asks, looking at Harry with an almost intimidating level of intensity.

“I mean… I think-- It could be?” Harry says, voice ticking up at the end to make it a question.

Louis suddenly looks closed off and sceptical. He leans back in his seat and Harry desperately wants to know what he’s thinking.

“I’m not-- I’m not saying no.” Louis says, spreading his palms on the table in front of him. “But I need to think about it.”

Then why does this feel very much like a no? “Okay. You… Think about it, I guess. I’m sorry.” Harry doesn’t really know what he’s apologizing for but it feels like the thing to do. 

Louis sighs, reaching over to take Harry’s hand away from his face, massaging the tooth marks in his fingers. “Don’t be sorry, babe. _I’m_ sorry. But, do you really think living together again would be a good idea? With our history and everything.”

“It’s different now, though. We’re different.” Harry says earnestly.

Louis nods, still looking apprehensive. “We are different, you’re right. There’s just some things I need to… think about first.” Harry doesn’t know what he needs to think about but he very decidedly does not want to push.

They finish dinner quietly and Harry knows to let it go when Louis gives him a chaste kiss on the cheek and a weak excuse of needing to get work done at home. He wanders back to his own flat wracking his brain as to what went wrong. He tries not to overthink it when Louis doesn’t call him the next day, or even send his usual ‘Good Luck!’ text because he knew Harry had a shoot that afternoon. Harry’s moping about the day after that, trying and failing to convince himself that he and Louis can get through this, they’re not over. 

“You’re an idiot!” Nick yells as he barges in the front door in typical Grimmy fashion. Harry’s beginning to think he just never learned how to knock. 

“Hello, Nicholas.” He doesn’t bother getting off the couch to greet him.

“Hello, Harry. Did I mention you’re an idiot?” He repeats, coming over to stand in front of the TV.

“You did. What’ve I done now?” Harry says, blinking up at him with Freckles curled on his lap.

“One of these days, you’re going to fuck it up with Louis again and I won’t be around to fix it for you.” Nick turns around to turn off The Notebook, not bothering to pause and eject the DVD like a normal sensible person. 

Harry sighs. Freckles jumps off his lap as he leans his elbows over her onto his knees, head resting in his hands. “I’ll get the hang of it eventually.” He groans, feeling the couch dip next to him as Nick takes a seat.

“Lord, I hope so. I think it’s three strikes and you’re out for these kind of things. This one’s the last.” He says, reclining back against the armrest.

Harry turns his head to look at him through his fingers. “When was the second time?”

Nick quirks up an eyebrow. “Christmas?”

“Oh… I thought that was just, like, an extension of the first one.” He lifts his head up, really beginning to think. “We weren’t even together then, shouldn’t it, like, reset once we started dating?”

“I think you’re getting too into this metaphor.” Nick gripes, leaning forward to place a hand on his shoulder. “You should put that kind of brain power into figuring out what’s got Louis calling me at three in the morning drunk off his rocker and moaning about commitment and self-preservation.”

Self-preservation? “What’s he mean by that?” Harry’s brow furrows and he gets up to start pacing in front of the coffee table.

“Hell if I know, poor lad hung up before I could get anything more out of him.” He shrugs.

“Well then you should be there, with him, making sure he’s alright.” Harry demands in a panic.

Nick waves him off before he’s even done speaking. “Texted him this morning, he’s fine. Real question is, why aren’t _you_ over there cleaning up this mess you’ve made?”

Harry crosses his arms against his chest. “Well if he didn’t tell you anything else, why’d you think I’m the one who did anything? It could be his fault.”

Nick stares at him for a beat. “Most of it was just a guess, but how’ve you reacted since I got here kind of clinched it for me.”

Damn, he got him there. “Fine! But I don’t know _what_ _I did_.” Harry would fix it if he knew what was wrong, right?

“I know most of your head’s filled with hot air but I’m sure if you think about it for a second you could figure it out. What’s the last thing you argued about?”

Harry sits down, bringing a pillow onto his lap to fiddle with the edges. “Moving in together.” He mumbles.

“What? I couldn’t hear you.” Harry can’t quite tell if he’s taking the mick. 

“I said, moving in together. That was the last thing we talked about, it wasn’t really an argument per say.” He shrugs, shoving the pillow away and bringing a knee up to his chest.

“Oh, Harold.” Nick tsks. “Sometimes you can be real fucking thick, you know that?” He says, getting up to come over and wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders.

“Are you going to keep telling me how stupid I am? Or are you actually going to help me out here?” Harry snaps, glaring at him.

“We can’t go make things too easy for you.” Harry levels him with an unimpressed stare. Nick laughs, clapping him on the back. “Let’s walk through it shall we?” Harry’s a bit wary of his condescending tone. “You and Louis met as roommates. You and Louis built the very beginnings of your relationship as roommates. I shouldn’t have to, but I guess I will remind you that you and Louis _hated_ each other as roommates.”

“So… You think… Louis thinks… That our relationship will regress back to that if we end up living together again…” Harry says slowly, still working it out in his head.

“They should give you an honorary psych degree to go with those textile design and fashion merchandising ones you’ve already got. Brilliant work, H.” Nick says, dripping with sarcasm.

“But that’s stupid, we wouldn’t let that happen.” Harry says, ignoring the jibes. 

“You don’t need to be convincing me, mate.” He holds up his hands in defense.

Harry groans, flopping over to the couch. Now that he knows what he has to do, it doesn’t make doing it any easier.

Nick starts a movie later, when it’s obvious Harry’s not going to move from where his face is smushed into the sofa cushions. He makes no move to comfort Harry or even help him come up with any ideas on how to talk to Louis. He guesses that’s fair though, Nick holds his hand enough as it is.

He finds himself at Louis’s doorstep two days later with no preamble. Which is why he’s waiting on the front stoop for Louis to get home, and not inside actually talking to him. The waiting has given his stomach time to get a little squeamish and his palms a little sweaty. He begins pacing after a half hour and Louis’s neighbors are probably about to call the cops.

“What are you doing?” He hears Louis say behind him on his fifth turn around of the afternoon. It feels so strangely similar to the last time they did this. Harry showing up unexpectedly to ask for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry!” He blurts out before he can think better of it.

Louis just raises an eyebrow and continues walking to open the front door to his building. He turns when he feels Harry’s not behind him. “You coming up?” And Harry really, really hopes that there will never be a third repeat of this scenario as he scrambles to follow Louis up to his flat. 

Harry hovers awkwardly behind him as he puts the bags of groceries on the counter in front of him. 

Louis sighs, turning around to lean against the sink. “Alright, what are you sorry for?” And that’s not what Harry expected to hear.

He looks at him confused for a moment. “Do you-- Don’t you know?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Of course I know. I just want to make sure you do.” Fair point, since Harry really hasn’t been known to be the most perceptive.

“I guess, I’m sorry I rushed things.” He stammers out, picking at his nails, resolutely not making eye contact. “And that I didn’t take your feelings into account when I suggested we live together again.”

Louis starts laughing because apparently nothing is going to happen the way Harry expects.

“What?” He says dejectedly, crossing his arms over his chest while Louis smiles at him.

“Oh, Love.” He sighs, coming forward to stand in front of him. “I don’t care about that.” He looks away for a minute. “Well, I did, but I don’t now.”

“Then what’d you want me to say sorry for?” People really need to start spelling things out for him, as much as Nick jokes.

“For not talking to your boyfriend for, oh, I don’t know, almost a week.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I thought you didn’t want me to.” He mumbles, pulling his hands out of his armpits to pick at his cuticles again.

Louis’s hands close over his. “I always want to talk to you. Even when you’ve unknowingly said the wrong thing.”

Harry fiddles with Louis’s fingers instead. “I wouldn’t let it happen though, how it did last time. I love you, and I know you now. I know how strong you are, how wise and motivated and caring.” He finally looks up to meet Louis’s soft gaze. “And you don’t need help, you never did, but-- Louis, I _want_ to help you. I want to care for you and do your laundry and help you find your keys in the morning. I want to make your life easier because _I love you_ , and I want to live together because I love you.” He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. When he opens them again, Louis is giving him a watery smile, eyes shining.

“Let’s do it.” He says so quietly that if Harry didn’t see his lips move he wouldn’t have heard it.

“What?” Really? 

“Let’s move in together. Someplace new. A fresh start.” The grins on their faces widen in excitement. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this _stupid_ ” Louis gives him a half-assed shove before pulling him in again. “radio silence, it’s that even though I can function without you, I never want to again.”

It’s so incredibly cheesy and Harry’s definitely going to remember to tease him for it later, but right now all he can do is pull him in for a bruising kiss. It turns into an awkward clank of teeth soon enough because they can’t stop smiling, but Harry really thinks this is how he wants to feel every day for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave comments/kudos :) [HERE](http://radiantbeams.tumblr.com/post/167946017284/as-good-as-it) is a link to the rebloggable tumblr post.


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